


Southern Silks and Northern Furs

by IrradiatedCutie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 62,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrradiatedCutie/pseuds/IrradiatedCutie
Summary: The death of Jon Arryn sends the King riding for Winterfell where Robb Stark ends up betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon while his sister Sansa is promised to Willas Tyrell. As an innocent love begins budding between the Young Wolf and the Golden Princess, a darkness is brooding in the recesses of King's Landing. After the death of the King, Robb escapes the capital with his betrothed the night before Ned Stark looses his head on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. The New King of the North declares a war. With an insider in their ranks, an army at their back, the North attempts to win independence and justice while other men are fighting for the Iron Throne. As hell wages among the land, the Realm gazes on, holding its breath.





	1. Ned I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be a lot lmao but I do promise it won't be abandoned but the updates may be sporadic but I'm going to attempt to update at least once a week. This is a Robb/Myrcella fic but my fav ship in all of GOT is Sansa/Willas so just to make myself happy that gets thrown in here. I hope you enjoy this fic and stick around for others that may follow.

Ice was shining in his hands, black as the night, by the time he heard her footsteps. He knew that she would seek him out eventually in here, he always came to the Godswood after he killed a man, it brought him some sort of peace to be with his gods, under the thousands of crimson leaves of the weirwood that reached out for him like bloodied hands. 

“Ned.” Her voice was soft, courtial but warm as he looked up from his houses ancestral blade in his lap. She stood there, as perfect as ever clad in a gown of forest green with her hair in flaming curls down her shoulders like a river of fire, her face was soft and light. Even in the darkness of the godswood, she shined. 

“Catelyn,” He nodded towards her, a formal greeting as he tried to focus his thoughts on her but he was elsewhere, he knew she could tell. “Where are the children?” He questioned as Catelyn moved towards him, sat next to him on the bench in front of the weirwood, her eyes focused on the steel in his hands. 

“In the kitchens, arguing over what to name their wolf pups,” She shook her head softly, a soft smile coming to her lips, “Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious and Rickon is not quiet sure.” 

Ned felt a chuckle rise in his chest, how just like his children to be squabbling over the names of wild wolves. Instead of letting the laugh fall from his lips, he let out a sigh, his hands habitually running over the steel of the blade in his hands. 

“Is he afraid?” Ned asked in relation to Rickon. 

“A little,” Replied Cat, “He is only five.” 

“He must learn to face his fears, he will not be five forever.” He frowned, knowing all too well that his youngest child was only five but, “Winter is coming.” He spoke heavily, his house words sending a chill through his wife. How disheartening that his children needed to grow up so fast, half of him hated that idea, growing up fast is what took away his brother and sister but the other half of him rationalized that they needed to be smart, cunning and older if they were going to survive the winter that was looming so close by. 

He had gone back to oiling Ice, the rag running up and down the blade until it shone like onyx or a starless night. He knew Catelyn was watching, her eyes running up and down the ripples in the blade where it had been folded over dozens of times in it’s forging, four hundred years old it was and still as sharp as the day it was brought forth into the world, back before the Doom had slipped into Valyria and the old Freehold, taking the magic with it. 

“The man died well, I’ll give him that.” Ned said, a deep melancholy within in him as he worked in slow, fluid movements, “I was glad for Bran’s sake. You would have been proud of Bran.” 

“I’m always proud of Bran.” Catelyn said, a soft smile flickering on her mouth. She still stared at the sword in Ned’s hands, four hundred years of blood sat in its veins, trailing all the way back to when the Starks were Kings of the North. 

“He was the fourth this year,” Ned said grimly. “The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him.” He sighed. “Ben writes that the strength of the Night’s Watch is down below a thousand. It’s not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well.” His brother Benjen had been with the Watch for nearly sixteen years, having taken the black when Robb and Jon were only a few months old.

“Is it the wildlings?” Catelyn asked, an uncertainness in her voice.

“Who else?” Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. “And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all.”

“Beyond the Wall?” Fear had replaced the uncertainness in her voice, Ned saw the dread on her face. 

“Mance Rayder is nothing for us to fear.” 

“There are darker things beyond the Wall.” He watched her glance at the face of the heart tree in front of them, the pale, snow colored bark and the deep, red eyes staring at the both of them. 

“You listen to too many of Old Nan’s stories.” He shook his head, a smile finally finding it’s place on his lips, “The Others are as dead as the children of the forest, gone eight thousand years. Maester Luwin will tell you they never lived at all. No living man has ever seen one.”

“Until this morning, no living man had ever seen a direwolf either,” Catelyn reminded him, a fire in her words as she took her stance on the other worldly things Beyond the Wall. 

“I ought to know better than to argue with a Tully,” he chuckled, still smiling as he shook his head once more. He slid Ice back into its sheath. “You did not come here to tell me crib tales. I know how little you like this place. What is it, my love?” He asked, looking her straight on for the first time in their conversation. 

Catelyn looked at him with a sad, distressed look in her eyes as she took his hands into hers,“There was grievous news today, my dear. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself.” Her glance had drifted down to her lap, as she took a deep breath. An anxiety festered in Ned’s chest as he stared upon his lady wife, trying to find a calmness in her beauty like he had done so many times before. 

“I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead.” The words struck him hard, right in the chest. The second father to him, by the right of the gods a brother as well, he was gone. The man who had been a mentor, a second parent who had been with him long after his actual father had been buried within the crypts of Winterfell, he had slipped from this world. 

“Jon…” He said,a sadness filling his words, “Is it certain?” 

Catelyn nodded, a sadness in her river blue eyes that probably matched his, she shared his grief, “It was the king’s seal, and the letter is in Robert’s own hand. I saved it for you. He said Lord Arryn was taken quickly. Even Maester Pycelle was helpless, but he brought the milk of the poppy, so Jon did not linger long in pain.”

While his thoughts were a mess of memories and sorrow, the thought of Jon Arryn’s wife, Catelyn’s sister came to the fore front. 

“Your sister,” he said. “And Jon’s boy. What word of them?” He worried that if a sickness had taken Jon, that might have lingered to his wife and child, the grief of one death could turn to the loss of three. 

“The message said only that they were well, and had returned to the Eyrie,” Catelyn said, shaking her head softly as her eyes lingered back down to her skirts, “I wish they had gone to Riverrun instead. The Eyrie is high and lonely, and it was ever her husband’s place, not hers. Lord Jon’s memory will haunt each stone. I know my sister. She needs the comfort of family and friends around her.”

Lysa Arryn was a lonely woman, even with Jon Arryn as her husband, but with his death, she had no one but her child. Ned squeezed his wife’s hands softly, a comfort he wished to offer her. 

“Take the children and go to the Vale. Fill the halls with laughter and fights. Lysa doesn’t need to be alone in her grief.” He looked deep into her eyes but she just shook her head, a melancholy smile on her face. 

“Would that I could,” said Catelyn, “The news of Jon Arryn is not all that was in the letter, The King is riding to Winterfell.” 

***

Dinner that night was a mess of shouts and dire wolf howls, all of his children had brought their pups with them despite the warning from Catelyn not to. Robb had smuggled his in under his cloak gathered in his arms, Rickon and Bran had stuffed them in their surcoats, attempting to keep them from squirming against their chests. Sansa and Arya had waddled to the table with their pups hidden at the bottom of their skirts. 

Jon was the only one who attempted to follow the rules but his snow white pup had been the one to follow him, silent as a shadow as it slipped under the table beneath his feet. Catelyn was annoyed with each of their kin at their disobeying the rules but Ned just laughed, allowing their children some freedom that night as each of their pups sat between their feet, wagging their tails and yipping with each plate shuffled in. Their supper that night was venison, roasted potatoes and carrots, buttered rolls, and half of the drinks were honeyed ale or wine, the other half iced milk. 

“Children,” Catelyn had said, all of the Stark kids stopping in their tracks, Arya’s hand halfway pulling out a fat, glistening buttered roll, Robb was pouring a glass of ale while Bran had a wooden spoon filled with roasted potatoes clutched in his hand. Silence swept over the table like a fire had been blown out as all of the children stared at their mother. 

“You're father has something he needs to tell you.” Catelyn continued and all of the Stark children shifted their gaze to their father who took in a deep breath, sighing softly as he stared at the sea of faces, frozen in obedience. 

“Jon Arryn has died and the King is riding for Winterfell.” said Ned and all of his children spoke in unison 

“Really?” A choir of voices spoke back at him to which he nodded and then they all broke their silence, a cacophony of questions rising in the air. 

“Is the rest of the court coming?” Questioned Bran 

“Yes,love, the Queen, her brothers and children along with dozens of guards are riding North.” Confirmed Catelyn.

“I heard the Queen is beautiful” Sansa gushed, eyes filled with a starry wonder. 

“I heard she's a real bitch.” Arya muttered, rolling her eyes to which everyone else screeched her name to which she flinched, eyes drifting down to her plate as she bit off a chunk of her roll. 

“They say that Prince Joffrey is handsome and chivalrous.” Sansa spoke up once more, eyes still glazed over with dreams of the royal boy. Robb rolled his eyes just like Arya had 

“I hear he's a real brat.” said Robb, shaking his head, “I bet Jon could knock him to the ground in seconds.” 

Jon finally piped up, hands wrapped around a tankard filled with honeyed ale the color of golden skies. “I doubt the Queen would let a bastard fight her first son,” he shook his head, a smile dusting over his lips as he took a sip from his mug.

“Bastard or not, you're a better fighter than the golden prince.” Robb retorted before gesturing over to table, “Arya could give Joffrey a run for his money.” 

“Of course I would!” Arya piped up, a mischievous grin on her face as all of her siblings laughed. 

“Now, my loves, when the King and Queen arrive, you need to be on your best behavior, especially around the Lannisters, do I make myself clear?” Catelyn said, a stern eye glancing over each of her children's faces.

“Yes, mother.” They all responded, a smile grazing over Ned’s features.

“Now,” said Ned, “How goes it with the wolf pups?” With that, another cacophony, shouts and laughs echoing through the dining hall.


	2. Arya I

The news that the King and his court were riding for the North spread like wildfire, it was all anyone would talk about. All of Winterfell had a month to prepare for the royal family and all of their guards. Everyone had their work cut out of them. They had to prepare chambers filled with blankets and candles, they stocked up on food and rolled out dozens of barrels of wine, it was said that everyone in the royal family had a tenacity to drink. Arya spent most of her days running away from Sansa and Septa Mordane with her wolf Nymeria at her heels, her Septa was convinced she was going to turn Arya into a perfect lady in the time it took the King to arrive in Winterfell.

She would make it through her morning studies before she ran off with her hound into the other parts of the castle. She would run through the halls until she made it to the kitchens where she would steal a bread roll or two, yell hi to all the servants before dashing off again. Often times she would wait in the aviary for awhile, watching the raven’s come and go with scrolls and letters tied to their feet. She began to notice more and more that some of the letters were addressed to Sansa with different house seals on each, the one she remembered the most was the one with the golden rose wax seal. 

By the time Arya had finished the rolls she had stolen from the kitchens, it was normally safe for her to venture forth. She had liked going to the stables to see the horses and the mutts but with Nymeria in tow, the other animals would become unsettled so Arya had to skip seeing the stable hands work. Instead of the stables she would head to the blacksmith, watching Mikken forge swords and armor, his apprentices polishing chest pieces and sharpening blades. Arya’s favorite part was when she would make her way back into the castle. There was a bridge between two of the halls that overlooked the training yard. She would sit atop the window ledge and peer down to the grounds beneath where she would watch Robb and Jon train. They would hack apart dummies made of hay and brown sacks before they would go at it with the other boys before they would eventually go against each other. It was hard to tell who was winning but Arya secretly rooted for Jon. She loved her brothers equally but Jon was always closer to her, they both felt like the outcasts of the family. 

“There you are.” Arya’s head snapped up as Nymeria stood up on all four legs, a growl deep in her throat as her father approached, a smile on his face. 

“Father…” She slipped her legs down, letting them dangle over the edge of the window sill as her father sat next to her.

“Septa Mordane had told me you’ve been running off. She’s been looking all over for you.” He told her and Arya looked down at her feet, a shame creeping up her neck red hot. 

“I’m tired of her and Sansa and the other girls.” She told him, a frown on her face. She wasn’t good at what the other girls were doing. She was the exact opposite of Sansa who had been a lady since she could walk. Sansa had it all, she could write poetry, sing, play the harp and the high bells. She smiled, laughed and curtsied just like a proper lady. Even down to the looks, the two of them were like the sun and the moon. Sansa had been blessed with their mothers looks like all of her other siblings had. The fiery mane, the high cheekbones and the eyes like a clear river. Arya looked like her father, dark hair and eyes, a long face just like Jon. The other girls called her Arya Horseface and laughed at her when she couldn’t pluck the right strings on the harp or did a shaky curtsy. Arya was good at the other things, she could ride and climb, she out shot Bran in archery. It was if she was being punished because of what was between her legs. 

“I don’t want to be a lady!” Arya shouted, the tears finally coming to her eyes and slipping down her dirty cheeks, hiccups cropping up from her throat. Her father let out a deep sigh before wrapping his arm around her which she threw herself into his chest. 

“Oh my little Arya,” Ned sighed once more, rubbing a large hand up and down her back, “You are a wild one.” She pulled back to look up at him and he reached to wipe away some of her tears. “A touch of the wolf’s blood my father called it.” At that, Arya grinned wide which brought a chuckle from her father’s lips. 

“There is no sense in taming you I suppose.” Ned sighed, shaking his head as he turned to look out the window at their backs, Robb and Jon still sparing, both of them breathing heavy as the crowd among them shouted. “I need you to do something for me Arya.” He said, looking back at her and she was gazing up at him, tears finally fading away. 

“What is it?” She questioned, raising her eyebrow as she finally scooted back from him. 

“When the King is here, I need you to calm yourself.” He said, “I need you to remember your manners and act like a good lady should.” He sighed and shook his head, “I know you hate it but I need you to do so, for me.” He looked down at her, a pleading look on his face and Arya realized how tired her father looked. It had been absolute chaos in Winterfell as they prepared for the royal Court and Ned was still grieving the loss of Jon Arryn. Arya sighed and looked down at her lap before nodding softly. There was a silence between them before Arya looked up again, a begging look in her eyes. 

“Are you gonna tell mother?” She asked in reference to her running away from her Septa meetings. The fact that she hadn’t been punished yet was testament to Septa Mordane’s attempt to try and find her. Her father just chuckled and shook her head. 

“I won’t tell your mother.” He grinned at her and Arya threw her arms around him, hugging him hard. 

“Thank you father!” She chimed before climbing to her feet, turning on her heel as she went to run down the hall. 

“Arya.” Her father said in a stern voice and she turned to see a smile on his face “Remember what I said.” 

“Oh,” She bit at the side of her lip before flashing a smile and doing a deep curtsy, the best she had ever mustered up. “Thank you father.” She said in a mockingly sweet voice before grinning and sprinting off down the hall, Nymeria at her heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think im gonna try to make sundays the days i upload a new chapter 
> 
> i do have face cast for both willas and myrcella tho! 
> 
> Myrcella: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b7/71/c8/b771c894cdff0ad2c44c1e8d3d25fa43.gif
> 
> Willas: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/4f/2a/81/4f2a81ed927098a1c831153b9d1b9eae.jpg


	3. Robb I

Robb was woken up that morning by a cacophony of loud whispers and muffled barks. When he rose to his elbows, all of his younger siblings were surrounding his bed with their hounds at their sides. They looked at him with wide eyes and sheepish smiles. 

“What’s happening?” He questioned, sitting up fully as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His brothers and sisters were still in their robes and slippers as he gazed at them. 

“Mother told us to come get you.” chimed Sansa. 

“She told us to tell you-” said Bran who was cut off by Rickon saying “There’s big news!” Robb raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting back and forth between his siblings, looking for an answer. 

“The King is in sight of Winterfell!” Arya shouted, a grin wide on her lips. 

“He’ll be here by midday.” Sansa informed him, a giddy smile on her own face. Robb’s eyes widened. 

“Midday?” He repeated and all of his siblings nodded in unison. “And we’re all in our night clothes?” He responded with another question and everyone looked around at each other before scrambling out of his chambers, shouts between them as their direwolves followed at their heels as each of his siblings raced for their own rooms to prepare for the arrival of the Royal Court. Robb just laughed and shook his head, rising from his own bed. He stretched out his back, letting it pop before he sighed deeply, crossing over to his dresser which he threw open, rummaging through his drawers for suitable clothes for the arrival of the King. It took him awhile to choose an outfit, he felt more like Sansa than ever as he scrutinized every piece he owned. While he drew out trousers, boots, a doublet and cloak, he chuckled as he thought of Arya dressing in trousers she had stolen from Bran before presenting herself to their mother only to get scolded and sent back. 

When all was said and done, Robb stared at himself in the mirror placed atop his dresser. He had chosen brown trousers, black boots trimmed with white fur, a doublet that was a muted grey with two dire wolves howling on his chest, their eyes a shining red as a cloak sat clasped around his neck, the silver chain bright against his skin. He had combed out his red ringlets until they shone like a fire, after that he patted Grey Wind on his head before taking his leave. The servants were going absolutely wild as they ran up and down the halls, arms filled with sheets, clothes and candles. His mother saw him in passing with Bran at her sides and Rickon clung to her skirts, she told him to go collect his sister’s before heading outside of the castle and to leave the wolves behind. 

He found Sansa in front of her mirror, running her hands through her curls with a worried look on her face. She wore a gown of green, dark like pines with a cloak of grey around her shoulders. When Robb entered, she whipped around and let out a sigh as she turned back to the mirror. 

“Is it time already?” She asked as he wandered over to stare into the mirror with her. The two of them could practically be twins. Sansa was shorter than him but they shared the same cheekbones, river blue eyes and copper colored manes. 

“Mother told me to come and get you and to ask that you leave your wolf behind.” He grinned as Sansa pouted before crossing over to her direwolf, placing a soft kiss on it’s white head before turning back to Robb and grabbing him by the arm. She closed her door behind the two of them as they headed down the hall for Arya’s room. Robb prayed for everyone’s sake that she was at least attempting to behave herself. Luckily for the both of them, when they knocked and entered Arya’s room she was sitting on her bed pouting, a dress of grey and a matching cloak draped around her. 

“Good to see you learned to listen,” Robb chuckled as Arya climbed down from her bed, a frown on her face. Nymeria stood to go and follow her mistress but Sansa chimed up before Arya could say anything to her hound. 

“Mother wants us to leave our wolves behind.” Sansa spoke up, hands clutching the sides of her cloak. Arya rolled her eyes before waving a hand at Nymeria who sat back down, letting out a whine as Arya turned to follow her siblings. 

They all walked arm in arm, Sansa to Robb’s right and Arya to his left as they walked the castle halls, heading for the outside. 

“I hope the prince thinks I’m pretty.” Sansa fluttered, smoothing out the non existent wrinkles in her gown. Robb couldn’t help but chuckle, ever since they were little Sansa dreamed of knights and princesses and being a wonderful lady with a gallant lord husband. 

“If the prince has any wits about him he’ll think you the most beautiful lady in all of Westeros.” Robb chuckled, smiling at Sansa who blushed a vibrant pink that lit up her cheeks. 

“I hope the Prince stays far away from all of us,” Arya said as she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as Robb sighed. 

“Arya, as much as I agree, you can’t say those things,” said Robb as they burst through the castle doors and into the light of day, “Especially not with the Lannister’s here, keep your thoughts to yourself.” Robb warned her and at that Arya rolled her eyes once more as they approached their other siblings and parents. 

Rows of Winterfell elites were at Robb’s back as they all took their places at the front, Robb next to his mother as the oldest of the siblings. They all stood silently as they waited eagerly for the King and his court. His father had told him stories of King Robert, back in the days before he sat on the Iron Throne, the days when Robert Baratheon was a force to be reckoned with. Robb had been told that the Storm Lord stood more then six and a half feet tall with ink black hair and eyes like a clear noonday sky with more muscles than a war horse, a maiden’s absolute fantasy. On the battlefield the King was said to be a warrior like no other, wielding a warhammer that not even his father could lift. Robb spent hours as a child wishing to go back in time, to be there at the Trident when Robert defeated Rhaegar Targaryen, claiming the Iron Throne for himself. 

Yet as the Court rode in, three horses leading the procession surrounded by guards on their own steads, Robb’s dreams of a fearsome warrior King were crushed. Off of a horse climbed down a man who was equal parts wide as he was tall, with the stench of perfume clinging to him like the way death clings to a corpse. The King approached his father and Robb could see the disappointment in Ned’s eyes as he dropped into a bow and said “Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.” 

By then, the rest of the party was unmounting their steads and from a liter shrouded in golden curtains came the others. From the horses came Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, tall and golden in gilded armor and a white cloak at his shoulders to symbol his status in the Kingsguard. After that was the other Lannister brother, Tyrion or the Imp, a dwarf with a mess of muted blonde hair and stunted legs. 

Robb watched as the rest of the King’s family came from the wheelhouse. The Queen Cersei Lannister was beautiful, truly, with long blonde hair and green eyes like emeralds but her bored look made Robb skip right past her. Her children followed her, the Golden Prince Joffrey was next, looking exactly like his mother, bored expression and all. Robb was awe struck when Princess Myrcella came from the wheelhouse. Sure, like her brothers, she looked like her mother but something about her was different. Her smile was kind and her eyes were bright and Robb nearly missed seeing the little Prince Tommen because he was too preoccupied with staring at the Princess. An exchange between his father and the King left the crowd to thin out as people hurried to their duties as the royal’s wandered off, escorted by guards and servants into the castle. 

The hours between the King’s arrival and the feast that night were a blur to Robb, he remembers being introduced to the Queen and her children by his mother, attempting to keep Arya under control after she was caught trying to sneak out to the stables and by the time he returned to his room to freshen up before the feast, he was tired. He was to escort Princess Myrcella and sit next to her for the night which, for some reason, made Robb’s heart jump a little. He concerned himself little with girls, most of his thoughts were with swords and learning how to lead.

Despite being a man, he never spent a large amount of time lusting after women unlike his father’s ward Theon Greyjoy who often talked about wanting to bed this girl or that. Yet when Robb had been introduced to the Princess, the way she smiled at him so genuinely, curtsied for him so neatly it nearly made his heart burst in his chest. However, Robb did see the hurt in his sister’s eyes when Prince Joffrey rolled his eyes at Sansa’s formalities, ignoring her almost all together. Since the introduction Sansa hadn’t been seen all afternoon and Robb had no doubt that his sister was bared up in her room, crying into her pillow from the slight from the Prince. It did her no good since Joffrey was supposed to be her escort to the feast that night. 

By the time the feast came, Robb had changed twice, having sweated out of his first doublet and the second one he had laid out he decided he didn’t like as much as he thought. He opted for a doublet of grey wool lined with white, a direwolf pin sat on his chest. He patted Greywind on the head and threw him a raw chunk of lamb he had smuggled from the kitchens before leaving for the Princess’s room. 

Each step he took sent a little more fear coursing through his veins, for one of the few times in recent memory, Robb was nervous, a twinge of anxiety in his chest as he reached the Princess’s temporary room inside Winterfell’s castle. He took a deep breath before lightly tapping his knuckles against the wood. The door flew open and there stood Princess Myrcella in all her glory. Robb’s heart did that little jump it did early as he gazed at her. She wore a gown of green velvet, a lion’s head fearsome and roaring on the bodice of her dress. Her hair was in long, loose curls that shown like golden coins and around her head was a circlet of emeralds that matched her eyes. 

“Lord Robb!” She chimed, a smile on her face as she stepped out of her room, closing the door behind her. He offered her his arm and she graciously took it before they continued down the hall. Robb’s heart was in his throat, sweat beading down his back. There was no reason for him to be this nervous but for some reason he was. 

“I hope the travel to Winterfell was easy on you, Princess.” He offered and she just smiled at him and nodded. 

“It’s beautiful here in the North, I’ve never been anywhere but King’s Landing.” She told him, a smile on her lips the entire time, it was if her joy was contagious because a smile was suddenly spreading over Robb’s face all the same. 

“I’ve never left the North if it makes you feel any better, Princess.” He admitted to which she giggled which in turn made Robb’s stomach flip over on itself. She was nothing like her brother’s, she was kind and courteous, in love with the world around her. If given the chance, he thought, she would make a wonderful Queen. 

By the time they reached the Great Hall, the line of royals was already forming and from behind the closed door Robb could hear the shouts, laughter and song of the feast. In front of him was the King and his lady mother, in front of them was his father and the Queen. Soon the rest of his siblings and the royal children arrived, Sansa was draped around Joffrey’s arm and Robb thought her too beautiful to be escorted by someone so bored with the world around him. Behind them came Arya and Prince Tommen who was the same age as Bran and Arya shared the same boredom as Joffrey but for a different reason. Finally came Bran and Rickon, arm in arm with each other as they giggled quietly. 

Then, in a flash, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the line moved forward. Cheers and claps could be heard as his parents and the King and Queen came into the Great Hall but he knew all too well most of the shouts were for his father and mother, most of the Winterfell citizens cared little for the Lannisters. Soon enough he was crossing below the platform where their parents sat, a foolish grin across his face as Myrcella waved to the crowd which cheered for the both of them as they sat. 

The night carried on smoothly, laughing and songs came more often then the courses did. Robb could hardly eat, he was still so awestruck by the Princess and the laughter of his siblings. At one point he looked out into the crowd to see a group of boys cheering on his half brother Jon Snow as he chugged down a pint of ale. Robb chuckled and when he caught his eye, he raised his own glass to him which got him a nod and smile from Jon. Four hours into the feast and Robb didn’t remember eating a single thing, he did notice that the one glass of wine his father permitted them to have on special occasions such as this was already gone. Him and Myrcella had been whispering in each others ears the entire night, trading secrets about their siblings which left them in fits of giggles, Robb felt like he was a boy of ten again, giddy with joy. By the time the fifth hour began to roll around, his father stood and silence quickly fell over the crowd, even the sounds of clinking plates stopped as everyone turned their attention to Lord Eddard Stark. 

“Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of King Robert Baratheon, he has served the Realm well and we support him for that,” his father said, peering out to the crowd and a strange feeling rose up in Robb’s chest as he father carried on, “But, that is not all we celebrate. I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North will soon become Hand of the King.” With that, applause broke out, drunk and loud and Robb frowned, his father belonged in Winterfell, not in the Capital with royals and spies, besides, that would mean Robb would take over as Lord of Winterfell and there was no way he was ready for that but then, “As well as being offered an honorable position, tonight I also announce that the great Houses of Stark and Baratheon will be joined in the bethroled between my son Robb Stark and the Princess Myrcella Baratheon


	4. Sansa I

Sansa sat on her bed, staring at the wall with tears in her eyes as her hands clutched the fur of her direwolf. The feast had be nothing she had dreamed of at all. Joffrey was bored with her the entire night, he barely even looked at her let alone talked to her. She watched with envy through the courses and songs as princess Myrcella and her brother Robb were nearly inseparable, laughing and whispering all of the feast as if they had known each other their whole lives. Then her father announced he was leaving her and that Robb was the one betrothed to a royal family member. She somehow managed to hold herself together for the rest of the feast but as soon as she was escorted back to her room, she flung herself onto her bed and sobbed. A good hour or so had passed since then and she still hadn’t found the energy to undress herself or brush her hair out. She had rested her head on top of Lady’s when a knock came to the door. 

“Sansa?” Robb called out and she sighed as the door slipped open and in walked her brother. He looked tired but beneath that was a nervousness. He looked at her with pitiful eyes and crossed over to her, taking her hands into his, dragging her from her bed and over to her vanity. 

“Come on, let’s at least brush your hair.” He said, beginning to pluck apart the intricate braid at the back of her head. She looked down at her lap and sighed, unwilling to open up but wanting some acknowledgment. 

“Look,” said Robb, “I know this isn’t how you imagined things…” He set a handful of pins on the vanity, working his fingers through her hair. When they were younger, she could cry when Septa Mordane or Old Nan or even their mother tried to brush her hair, she would only let Robb do it, he was gentler somehow with her and he was even now. 

“It isn’t fair!” She cried out, smacking her hand against the wood in front of her, tears swelling in her eyes again, “I’ve always wanted to marry a prince and Joffrey won’t give me the time of day,” She cried, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks once more. She wanted a knight or a prince, sweet and gentle to save her from anything, to whisk her away and make her his bride but the first and only prince she’ll ever meet hates her, bored with her and her family and all of the North. Instead of her getting to head South, see the world and it’s beauties she was stuck in the North to whither away. 

“You get to go South with father and I’m stuck here, with no one wanting to marry me.” Sansa complained, sniffling gently, “It isn’t fair.” Robb simply chuckled as he reached for her brush, undoing tangles and knots within her mane, brushing it smooth and shining. 

“Oh sweet Sansa,” he chuckled, “Prince Joffrey is a stuck up brat and you deserve better.” He told her to which she shook her head. 

“I’ll make him love me.” she whispered to which Robb sighed, setting her brush down and grabbing her hand. 

“Look at me Sansa.” He said and she did, standing up to meet him. From his pocket he pulled out a letter, the wax seal already broken but the sigil was that of a golden rose. “You deserve better than Prince Joffrey and you’re getting better than that brat.” He waved the letter in the air and she raised her eyebrows in wonder and confusion. 

“What do you mean?” She said bewildered and he just grinned, shaking his head. 

“Sansa, you are to be married to Willas Tyrell,” he informed her, “You’re coming South with me and father.” 

Sansa though she was going to kneel over and die from shock. She had been offered betrothals before but her father had always denied them until now. But then she frowned and said “Isn’t he a cripple?” Robb just sighed and shook his head, leading them over to her bed to which he sat the both of them down on. 

“Yes, Willas Tyrell was crippled in a tourney joust but he is a knight and he is kind and smart and he’ll be Lord of Highgarden one day and you can be Lady. Isn’t that what you want?” Robb asked and Sansa looked down at her lap. All that he said was true but what if he wasn’t able to love her the way a non-crippled man would. She sat in silence for a few moments, thoughts whirling around her head before she spoke up again. 

“When do we leave?” She said, a smile dusting across her face as she looked up at her brother. He smiled at her gently and pulled her close into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and let out a gentle sigh. Robb was always there for her, ever since they were little. Some of her father’s men had joked that the two of them could be twins, connected at the hip. 

“We leave with the King in four days time.” He said softly, breaking apart their hug and leaning back. 

“That’s not that long from now.” She said, a worried look making its way onto her face. Robb chuckled and shook his head as he stood. 

“Better get to packing,” He said as he left, closing her door behind him. Robb had left the letter on the edge of her bed and she plucked it up, slowly opening it to see beautiful handwriting across all of it. Her eyes quickly skimmed the words, making sure to take in its entire meaning. 

_House Tyrell would like to extend it’s deepest wishes to Lord and Lady Stark_  
_As it asks for the hand of your eldest daughter, Sansa,_  
_to be promised to our eldest son, Willas. He is strong, smart and gentle._  
_He shall make a great husband for Sansa if you allow it._

She held the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, imaging Highgarden and the Tyrell’s. She had heard of Willas, that in his first joust as a knight he faced the infamous Red Viper, Oberyn Martell, who had crippled his knee. She had also been told that he had the best mounts in all of the Seven Kingdoms, that he was of quick wits as well. Tales of the Tyrell children had made it North, with stories of their middle brother, Garlan who was also a knight, gallant and charming along with his younger brother Loras, the Knight of Flowers. All of the children were beautiful and charming, including their only daughter Margaery. 

Sansa flew from her bed, threw off her gown and slipped into her night clothes as she blew out her candles. She lifted up her covers and slipped it, patting the spot next to her as Lady climbed up and laid down, providing a warmth and comfort to Sansa as she clutched the letter of her betrothal to her chest. That night she dreamt of chestnut curls and rose gardens.


	5. Arya II

Arya’s stitches were crooked again. 

She sighed, looking up at the girls around her with their needles in hand as they stitched away. Sansa was sitting next to the Princess Myrcella who was truly beautiful, long golden hair and quick smiles. She was the same age as Sansa and was soon to be Arya’s good sister. Jeyne Poole was at Sansa’s side with Beth Cassel at her feet as Jeyne whispered in her sister’s ear before they giggled. 

“What are you laughing about?” Arya asked, peering over at her sister and her friends. Sansa ducked her head as a blush crept over her cheeks and Jeyne Poole looked over at Arya. 

“We were talking about her betrothal.” Jeyne commented and Arya raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look dusting over her face. 

“Robb’s the one betrothed, not you.” Arya stated, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. Sansa shook her head, stopping stitching for a moment. 

“I’m betrothed to Ser Willas Tyrell of Highgarden.” Sansa said, the blush on her cheeks deepening in color. 

“The horse breeder?” Arya asked, knowing that Willas Tyrell had bred mounts that were even in Winterfell which were the best of the ones in the stables. 

“What are you girls talking about?” Septa Mordane had turned her attention from gushing over Princess Myrcella to eyeing Arya and her sister. 

“We were talking about how glad we are to have the Princess with us.” Sansa said, a gracious smile flashing over her lips. Myrcella grinned and blushed softly. 

“I appreciate you asking me to join, it’s been so long since I’ve been around other ladies.” Myrcella looked back down to her stitches and Septa Mordane set her eyes on Arya. 

“Arya, why aren’t you working?” her Septa asked and stood, heading for her “Let me see your stitches.” Ayra wanted to scream as the Septa took her stitches from her and shook her head. 

“This will not do, Arya, these are crooked again.” Septa Mordane looked at her with a disappointment in her eyes. Everyone was staring at her now, even the Princess. 

“My stitches were crooked in the beginning too, you’ll get better with time.” Myrcella said, a genuine smile on her face but Arya new she wouldn’t get better, Jeyne Poole was smirking at her misfortune. Arya stood and bolted for the door but Septa Mordane called after her. 

“Arya Stark! Do not take another step! You’re lady mother will hear about this! In front of our royal Princess too, you’ll shame us all.” Septa had a look of horror on her face as Arya whipped around and bowed as low as she could go, like a knight would as she popped back up. 

“By your leave, my lady.” Arya said as she watched Princess Myrcella bite her lip, trying to draw back a smile at her antics. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, Ayra?” the Septa demanded. 

Arya glared at her, an anger bubbling in her chest, “I have to go shoe a horse.” She stated, watching as Princess Myrcella grinned and let out a short giggle as absolute horror splashed across her Septa’s face as she then turned on her heel and sprinted down the steps as fast as her feet would take her. Arya struggled to keep the tears out of her eyes which were hot and angry. It wasn’t fair. Arya was always the lesser one, Sansa had everything.

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom by the base of the stairs. The hound bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya to which she smiled. The wolf pup loved her like almost no one else did, the two went everywhere together, even slept in the same bed. If her lady mother hadn’t forbade it, Arya would have gladly brought Nymeria to her needlework. Let Septa Mordane complain about her stitches then.

Nymeria nipped at her hand as Arya untied her, her yellow eyes gleaming like two golden coins when they caught the light. Arya had named her after the warrior queen of the Rhoyne, who had led her people across the narrow sea. That had been a great scandal too. Sansa, of course, had named her pup “Lady.” Arya made a face and hugged the wolfling tight. Nymeria licked her ear, and she giggled. 

By now Septa Mordane would certainly have sent word to her lady mother. If she went to her room, they would find her. Arya did not care to be found. She had a better notion. “Come,” she whispered to Nymeria. She got up and ran, the wolf coming hard at her heels. There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where you had a view of the whole yard. That was where they headed.

The two, girl and wolf, arrived at the bridged flushed and breathless, skin hot even in the cold air. She found Jon seated on the sill, one leg drawn up where he rested his chin upon his knee, staring out the window so intently that he hadn’t noticed Arya’s arrival. He only tore his eyes away from the action down below when his white wolf approached hers. Nymeria stalked closer on wary feet. Ghost, already larger than his littermates, smelled her, gave her ear a careful nip, and settled back down. 

Jon gave her a curious look. “Shouldn’t you be working on your stitches, little sister?” 

Arya made a face at him. “I wanted to see them fight.” 

He smiled. “Come here, then.” 

Arya climbed up on the window and sat beside him, to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the yard below. Arya frowned as below in the training yard where the younger boys, huffing and puffing as they whacked at each other with padded wooden swords. Bran and Prince Tommen were so heavily padded they looked like featherbeds on legs but still, Ser Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell’s master-at-arms, watched carefully as the boys went at it. Around the two, men and boys shouted at them encouragingly, Robb’s voice was the loudest of them all, his face red from the cold and from his previous training against Joffrey. 

“A shade more tiring than needlework.” Jon teased her, a grin flickering across his lips. 

“A shade more fun than needlework.” She retorted and he reached over, his grin widening as he messed up her hair. The two of them had always been close, Arya loved her brothers with all her heart but Jon was her favorite. 

“Why aren’t you down in the yard?” Arya asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the yard below. 

“Bastard’s are not allowed to damage young princes.” said Jon, “Any bruises taken in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.” 

Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes, “You’re better with a sword than that brat prince will ever be.” She watched as Bran gave Tommen a good whack that sent him stumbling. 

“I could do better than Bran,” Arya noted, “He’s 9 and I’m 11.” Jon chuckled and messed up her hair once more. 

“You’re too skinny,” He said, grabbing her arm and poking around to find what little muscle there was, “I doubt you could even lift a longsword.” He sighed dramatically and Arya jerked her arm away, glaring at him which earned her another grin. Down below them a loud shout drew from the courtyard and their eyes wandered back to see Bran standing over Tommen who was flat on his back, the both of them struggling to breath as Bran lifted up his sword to deliver a final blow. 

“Enough!” Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. “Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor.” He looked around. “Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?”

Robb stepped forward, sweat on his forehead from previous rounds. Arya looked back to Jon. “How’d Robb do before?” She asked. Jon shrugged, resting an arm over his knee. 

“He gave Joff a good beating but there’s no way Joff’ll admit it.” Jon sighed, rolling his eyes and Arya did the same. Robb was ten times the warrior, the leader than Joffrey would be and Arya did not envy the fact that he had to travel South with such a stuck up brat like the Prince. Laughter broke from the courtyard and Arya looked down to see Joffrey and his guards walking away as Robb was going the other direction, cursing loudly in anger as Theon Greyjoy followed in toe. 

“Well, the show is done.” Jon said, finally climbing down from the windowsill. He bent down and scratched behind Ghost’s ears and the wolf leaned against him. “You had best run back to your room, little sister. Septa Mordane will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You’ll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

Arya didn’t think it was funny. “I hate needlework!” she said with passion. “It’s not fair!” 

“Nothing is fair,” Jon said. He messed up her hair again and walked away from her, Ghost moving silently beside him. Nymeria started to follow too, then stopped and came back when she saw that Arya was not coming. 

Reluctantly she turned in the other direction.   
It was worse than Jon had thought. It wasn’t Septa Mordane waiting in her room. It was Septa Mordane and her mother.


	6. Sansa II

In a span of two days, all of Winterfell had fallen apart. There was a celebration with the promise of marriage for two of the Stark children but when the King and Ned had gone hunting in the woods beyond Winterfell, Bran had fallen from a tower, broken his back and hadn’t woken since. Along with that, Jon had told everyone he was leaving with Uncle Benjen for the Wall, he was to take the Black.

Sansa, stricken by the grief of her brother’s accident, hadn’t found the strength to finish packing, most of her clothes half hung out of her wardrobe or tossed across her bed. Her mother hadn’t left Bran’s sick room and her father was busy, bogged down with his grief and attempting to finish rounding up all of Winterfell so they could leave on time. While the King had shared the grief of the Starks, he was still eager to hit the road in two days time. What the King says, the realm follows. 

Sansa sat on the floor of her bed chambers, her eyes puffy and red from tears, her cheeks streaked from crying. Lady sat at her side, her soft fur a comfort to Sansa as she had her arms wrapped around her. Outside, she heard the howl of Bran’s wolf which stood outside his sick room, crying up to the sky non stop. When the pup had been shooed away, it came back again. When the windows were shut, Bran’s heart weakened but once it had been reopened, his heart found the will to beat. As if boy and beast were one. 

“How can I leave when my brother may die.” Sansa spoke, her voice croaking from the screams she had buried in her pillows when she heard of the accident. Lady whimpered and licked her mistress’ hand in an attempt to comfort her. 

“He was always climbing, if he just listened to mother, he would be here.” Sansa said bitterly as the tears began to well in her eyes again. She found a wool glove by her side which she snatched from the floor, crumbled into a ball and threw it, with all her might against the wall where it made a thump before sliding to the ground. She sniffled and the tears fell to her cheeks where they dripped down her chin, hiccup's coming from her lips as she buried her face into Lady’s fur. 

Suddenly, a knock came to the door and Sansa looked up, her heart caught in her throat. It was silent for a moment before another knock came to her door. Sansa shot to her feet and dried her eyes on her sleeve. “Come in.” she said. 

The door slowly creaked open and in walked Princess Myrcella. She was stunning, despite the look of pity on her face. She wore a heavy gown of wool, the color of wine with a silver belt at her waist. Her hair was in a long braid down her back and she smiled sadly at Sansa as she entered. 

“My Princess.” Sansa stammered, going into a deep curtsy and bowing her head. 

“No need for those formalities, Sansa.” Myrcella said as she crossed over and pulled Sansa into a hug. She was warm and soft and Sansa eagerly wrapped her arms around her, seeking a comfort she hadn’t found in the day previous. 

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” Myrcella said when they broke apart and she gazed around her room. Sansa frowned a bit and the Princess matched it. She took Sansa’s hand and dragged her to the trunk that sat on the floor, pushed against her bed. The two girls sat on it and Myrcella let out a sigh. 

“When I seven, my little brother Tommen took ill.” She said, taking Sansa’s hand in hers. “He was only 3, he got a nasty cough and fever. Joffrey kept telling me he was gonna die.” She shook her head before looking down at her lap. 

“Mother cried and cried, father had the Maester watching over Tommen like a hawk.” Myrcella told her, her voice soft and truthful, Sansa hanging onto every word. 

“I prayed and prayed, to the old gods and the new that my brother get better.” She looked up from her lap and connected eyes with Sansa. She couldn’t help but notice how green they were, like emeralds sparkling in the sun, or fresh grass after a summer snow. 

“One morning, I woke up to find Tommen looming over me, a kitten clenched in his arms. I cried harder out of joy than I ever did out of sorrow.” a smile flickered over the Princess’s lips as she shook her head. “I know Bran will make it, he’s tougher than Tommen.” Sansa didn’t notice she was crying until she felt the tears drop onto the back of her hands. She quickly dried her eyes and smiled at the Princess. 

“Thank you, that gives me so much hope.” Sansa told her to which Myrcella’s lips broke into a gigantic grin. 

“Now, shall I help you finish packing?” She asked as she peered around the room and Sansa sheepishly nodded, an embarrassment creeping up her neck. Myrcella stood and began gathering the dresses skewed across the bed and Sansa stood, grabbing some from out of her wardrobe. 

“You’ll have to get some new gowns once you reach the South.” Myrcella said, folding one gown made of river blue linen. “It’s much hotter down there.” She said as she flipped open the trunk they had been sitting on just moments ago as she neatly placed down one dress and went on to the next. 

“I’m sure they’ll be some for me in Highgarden.” Sansa said, pulling out a dress of pine green. Myrcella whipped around, a smile dazzling on her face. 

“Oh! I’ll give you some of my dresses!” she exclaimed, waving her hands in the air. 

“Thank you but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Sansa tried to brush it off but Myrcella insisted. 

“Please, I have a dress that will look so good on you. It’s blue silk with silver vines going up it, it’ll match your eyes!” Myrcella pouted comically and Sansa let out a giggle before giving in. 

“Alright, if you insist.” Sansa giggled and the Princess clapped before going back to folding dresses. Lady had wandered over and began to sniff at Myrcella’s legs. The Princess turned around and exclaimed excitedly before crouching down to pet the hounds head. 

“Oh, your wolf, she’s so soft!” Myrcella said, scratching behind the wolfling’s ear. Sansa smiled and admitted her companion as well. 

“Thank you, I named her Lady.” Sansa told her and the Princess just smiled, using both hands to pet each ear. 

“That’s so adorable!” she said, “Robb named his Grey Wind.” Myrcella blushed at the mention of her betrothed name, even if she was the one who uttered it. Sansa noticed this and smiled. 

“Do you like my brother?” She asked, wandering over to the bed where she sat on the edge of it. Myrcella stood and sat next to her, her face a fiery red as she nodded softly. 

“He’s so kind, handsome and he makes me laugh.” she said, fidgeting her hands together. Sansa grinned harder, knowing her brother was just as enchanted by the Princess as she was by him. 

“I think you’ll be a wonderful wife for him, he seems so enthralled by you.” Sansa told her and Myrcella grinned, shaking her head softly, her eyes gazing down at her lap. There was a silence between them for a moment or two before the Princess looked up again. 

“Oh! But you’re set to marry Willas Tyrell! I heard he’s cunning and smart! And handsome as well.” She grinned and this time it was Sansa who was blushing. Myrcella sighed and rested her head on top of Sansa’s shoulder, closing her eyes softly. 

“I think you and I will be great sisters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double upload today because I know the Arya chapter wasn't that fantastic and I really wanted to get this Sansa chapter out there, I love writing her.


	7. Robb II

Winterfell was once more, in a frenzy as the Royal Court was finally taking its leave, along with Robb, Sansa and their father as well. All morning, Robb had been out in the courtyard, ordering the loading of supplies and trunks into carts and on the backs of horses. He scarcely had time to give his farewells to the rest of his family. He had said goodbye to Bran that morning, holding his mother for awhile while she sobbed. He told her she needed to take care of Winterfell, that she may have been a Tully but now she was a Stark, and they were as strong as steel. He thought perhaps it would give her strength, he hoped it did. 

He was out in the yard, helping some of the servants load one of the wagons filled with their clothes when Jon found him. His half brother approached him and there was some sort of defeat in his eyes, a sorrow half hidden. Robb offered him a soft smile as he noticed the snow beginning to fall. 

“Uncle Benjen is looking for you,” he told Jon. “He wanted to be gone an hour ago.” 

“I know,” Jon said. “Soon.” He looked around at all the noise and confusion. “Leaving is harder than I thought.”

“For me too,” Robb said.So much had happened in the past days, it seemed almost impossible to leave but it was what the King ordered. 

“Did you see him?” Robb asked and Jon nodded, biting his lip as he held his tongue.. “He’s not going to die,” Robb said. “I know it.”

“You Starks are hard to kill,” Jon agreed, his voice flat and tired, void of emotion. Robb knew something was wrong. 

“My mother . . . ” he drifted off. He knew all too well that his mother despised Jon. He knew why but he didn’t like it. 17 years the boys had grown together and even now Cat was treating him with such ill will. It made Robb sick to his stomach to think that his mother wished Jon pain, even now as one of their brothers lie in a sick bed. They were still related, bonded by blood and nothing was to change that. 

“She was . . . very kind,” Jon told him. 

Robb let out a sigh of relief.. “Good.” He smiled. “The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

Jon let out a thin smile. “It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?” Jon asked, an uncertainness in his voice, perhaps a sliver of doubt in his eyes. 

“Soon enough.” said Robb as he reached over and pulled Jon into a fierce hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him. “Farewell, Jon.” 

“And you Robb.” Jon replied, breaking away as he glanced around. 

“Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you,” Robb finally said. 

“I have one more farewell to make,” Jon told him. 

“Then I haven’t seen you,” Robb replied, a grin on his face. 

“Where’s Arya?” Jon asked and Robb just shook his head, a chuckle rising from his throat. 

“Father caught her climbing, pulled her down and told her to sit in her room until he came to get her.” 

Jon nodded at him as he took his leave, letting Robb continue his work surrounded by the wagons, wolves and horses. It took him nearly an hour before Robb was finished loading and packing everything, all of it ready for them to travel down the King’s Road. 

When all was said and done, he sought out to find Arya as well. He climbed the stairs to the area within the castle that held their rooms, the last time he would climb those stairs for awhile. He knocked on the door before swinging it open where he found his youngest sister standing in the midsts of her room, clutching a long, skinny blade. The shock in his eyes were matched only by the fear in hers. She quickly hid the blade behind her back as a sheepish smile slipped onto her face. 

“Who gave you that?” He asked and Arya bit her lip, a frown forming. He sighed, knowing that it was probably Jon who gifted her with a blade of her own and there was no way she was going to betray Jon. 

“You’re lucky it’s me that came in here and not father, especially not mother.” He told her and Arya looked down, a shame creeping up her neck. Robb sighed and walked over to her, sitting the both of them down on her bed. 

“If I had any sense at all I’d take this from you.” He told her, a seriousness in her voice but then a smile grew across his lips as a chuckle rose from his throat. “Knowing you, you would bully one of the blacksmith apprentices into making you another one.” Arya just grinned at him and nodded. 

“Arya, do you even know the first rule of sword fighting?” He asked, raising a brow at her. 

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” She said bluntly and Robb couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I guess that’s part of it, yes.” He said, sighing before a thought came to his mind. “Arya, you have to promise me something.” He said and she looked up at him, confusion etched on her face. 

“Jon’s gone, and Father’s leaving, and me and Sansa. Mother is still ruined over Bran. I need you to behave. I’m not asking much just, do as she says.” He asked of her. Bran might have been taught how to lead Winterfell while Robb and Father were down South, but with him still comatose, it was looking like Arya might get half of the responsibilities Bran might have had. 

“They’re going to ask a lot of you, and you’re not gonna like half of it but I need you to power through.” Robb said and Arya just silently nodded. “Do you promise me that?” asked Robb. 

“Promise.” Arya said and Robb’s serious tone melted away, a grin back on his lips once more. 

“Now,” he said, “I’m going to leave you a present of my own, it’ll be in the Godswood. Only use it at night.” He told her. She nodded before throwing her skinny sword to the side and wrapping her arms around him. 

“I’m going to miss you.” She mumbled into his chest and Robb sighed, rubbing his hands up and down her back. 

“I’m going to miss you too.”

From there, Robb got Sansa and told her to meet him out in the courtyard. She grabbed her cloak and hurried out of her room, her skirts billowing behind her. Robb then made one last stop to the Godswood where he left Arya’s present before praying underneath the Weirwood. 

When he returned to the courtyard, everyone was already gathered, half of them already mounted on their horses. Robb came upon Myrcella, clad in nothing but velvet the color of the sun, golden and flowing. Yet she had hunched shoulders, goose pimples running up and down her flesh and her nose positively pink in color. 

“My Princess,” He greeted her and she flashed in a smile, her could hear her teeth chattering from the cold. “Do you not have a cloak?” He asked and she simply shook her head no. He unclasped the chain around his neck, pulled his cloak off of his shoulders and draped it around hers. It nearly swallowed her, grey wool and white fur wrapped around her. She pulled it close to her body and let out a sigh of relief. 

“Gods, it’s so warm.” she said, running the fur down one of her cheeks. She then quickly blushed and looked at Robb from head to toe. “But, won’t you be cold?” She asked, raise an eyebrow. 

“I’ll be fine, ice and snow practically runs in my veins.” He told her which earned him a giggle from her lips that in turn, sent Robb’s heart into his throat. 

After that, the King and his father came into the courtyard and everyone gave their final goodbyes before they mounted their horses or gathered in the wheelhouse and the gates of Winterfell opened as they all marched out. The summer snow was falling heavily as they began winding down the road, Robb on horseback as flakes gathered in his hair with his home at his back. The places on the horizon Robb wished to be hopeful but something in the back of his mind told him to be doubtful.


	8. Willas I

The day was warm but not insufferably hot like it had been in the past week. A soft breeze passed through the trees and flowers, accentuating the ever present smell of roses in Highgarden. It was mid afternoon, the sun already slipping down the sky to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow upon everything in sight. Willas Tyrell sat on his balcony, his nose buried into a book as a the wind tangled through his chestnut locks and sent them dancing around his face. He brushed them away with the back of his hand and flipped the page, so enthralled with the words in his book that he hadn’t heard the door to his room open, nor the door to his balcony open. 

He only pulled his attention away from his book when he heard the sound of the chair across from him drag across the ground. He finally tore his eyes away from the paper to see his younger brother, Garlan grinning at him, a handful of grapes in his hand that he had plucked from Willas plate. 

“I wondered what it was going to take to pry your nose out of that book.” Garlan said, a grin spreading cheekily across his face as he popped a grape into his mouth. Willas sighed and shook his head, marking his spot with a piece of leather before closing his book, sliding it onto the table top. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t decide to scare me into paying attention to you.” Willas admitted, taking his own handful of grapes. 

“I admit that I considered it, but I didn’t want to scare you to death seeing as your bride is now on her way South.” Garlan broke the news to him, reaching over to take a slice of cheese. Willas grabbed his plate and pulled it away just out of his brothers reach. 

“They’ve already left Winterfell?” Willas asked and Garlan nodded, standing up to yank the cheese from his plate. 

“I figured they wouldn’t leave until their son woke up.” Willas said, pushing the plate towards Garlan, losing his appetite. 

“The King is apparently eager to get back home. I guess he wants his daughter and Ned’s wed as soon as possible.” Garlan told him, taking a sip from the goblet nearby. Willas shook his head and stood with the aid of his cane, wandering over to the balcony as he peered out onto the gardens below. How lovely it looked bathed in an orange light from a sleeping sun. 

“She’s a child, Garlan, she’ll turn fifteen on her way South.” Willas sighed and shook his head once more. It wasn’t often that betrothals came his way, not since crippling his knee but his grandmother, Olenna Tyrell had suggested it. Tie them to the old blood of the North, make their alliances stronger. Willas never thought he would marry for love, let alone marry at all but a girl 5 years his junior? It just twisted his stomach in the wrong ways. 

“Her parents seem to think her old enough, so does grandmother.” Garlan said, joining him in gazing over the gardens. 

“Grandmother thinks any girl older than twelve is old enough.” Willas scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Why are you reading a book on the North then?” Garlan teased and suddenly Willas’ face was tinted pink. 

“If I’m going to marry a Northern girl, then I ought to know about her homeland.” He explained, a blush still flooding his cheeks. 

“I would say you think to impress her.” Garlan teased him so more, nudging his shoulder. 

“Is it so wrong of me to want my wife to like me?” Willas asked to which Garlan replied with a shrug, that damned grin still on his face. “Besides, I doubt she knows I’m a cripple.” Willas said, a grim look slipping onto his face. 

“She probably does and she’ll like you all the same. Stark’s don’t tend to have the same judgements as the rest of the Realm.” Garlan reassured him, still smiling despite Willas’ doubts. Willas nodded and let out one more sigh. 

“Perhaps you’re right Garlan…” Willas told him, watching the sun cast the last sliver of light as it finally fell below the horizon. 

“When have I ever been wrong?” Garlan laughed which earned him a punch to the shoulder which he returned. The two brothers stood there, laughing as night set in. 


	9. Myrcella I

The morning was misty, bright but hazy somehow and the air was some mix between light and heavy as if a rain wanted to set in but it wasn’t quiet sure yet. The night before they had made camp upon the banks of the Trident and over night, the fog had settled over their encampment. Myrcella woke early that morning, dressed in a gown of crimson velvet before heading out. Most of the camp still slept with the sun still below the horizon, casting an early morning glow over the land. A few guards wandered between tents, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Myrcella had set her sights on the banks of the river, to see the rushing waters and the flowers that bloomed near by. 

Making her way through a thicket of trees, she spilled out onto the banks and a few yards down, she spotted two figures. She squinted her eyes but couldn’t quiet make out any defining features so she began to move towards them. Soon enough, she realized who they were. Robb stood with a tourney sword in his hands, slashes and scars marring the trunk of a tree. A ways down was Sansa, plucking flowers from the banks of the river. Somewhere within the tree line, their two direwolves sat, sleeping peacefully.

“Good morning!” Myrcella called and both of the Stark siblings whipped around to face her. 

“Princess!” They both exclaimed, Robb dipping into a low bow and Sansa slipping into a curtsey. How similar the two of them were. Myrcella just laughed and shook her head. 

“Please, forgive me if I intruded upon you two.” Myrcella said and the both of them just shook their heads. 

“You weren’t!” The both of them said in unison before trading glances, their faces burning bright red just like their fiery manes. Myrcella couldn’t keep the smile off of her face if she tried. She simply let another giggle escape her lips as she wandered over to the two of them. First, she came upon Sansa, with her handful of flowers and the shy smile on her face. 

“Could you show me what flowers you’ve picked?” Myrcella asked and Sansa smiled bashfully, holding up single buds of many colors. There were buds of lilac and lavender, daffodils and daisies. 

“I love flowers,” Sansa told her as she ran her finger over the soft white petals of one, “I’ve always wanted to learn about them.” She admitted to her and Myrcella smiled, patting her cheek. 

“Well, you are going to be in Highgarden, I’m sure Willas would love to teach you about all of the flowers they grow in the gardens.” Myrcella told her and the blush on Sansa face deepened. Sansa plucked a flower the color of a rich wine and handed it to her. 

“Here, to match your dress.” Sansa said and Myrcella smiled, taking it gently and placing it behind her ear. 

“How does it look?” Myrcella asked and Sansa smiled back at her. 

“Perfect.” 

Myrcella stepped around Sansa and went wandering down the banks amongst the wildflowers, in search of a specific one. Patches of purples, reds and yellows bloomed and swayed with the wind. Sansa trailed behind her, both of them carefully stepping through the clusters as to not crush any flowers. After a few minutes of wandering, Myrcella found what she was looking for. A few bright blue blossoms sprung up from the ground and Myrcella plucked up the most vibrant one. She turned around and found Sansa picking some more flowers that were orange splashed with white. The Stark girl stood up and turned around to find Myrcella holding out a single flower. 

“Here,” Myrcella said, “To match your eyes.” Sansa smiled and blushed before doing as Myrcella had, pushing the flower behind her ear. The two girls clasped hands and wandered back of to the clearing on the banks where Robb had been. Myrcella thanked Sansa for the flower before going to see Robb. He had returned to slashing at the tree, he breathed hard, sweat beading down his forehead as his cheeks were tinted pink from exertion.

“Is that your sword?” Myrcella asked and he turned to her, a smile fleeting on his lips as he pushed back a mass of red curls. 

“No, just a tourney blade.” He said, wiping some sweat from his forehead. “My father said the best fighters know how to take down an enemy with the dullest blade.” He said before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I doubt a princess want’s to hear about swordplay.” 

“No need to apologize,” She told him, grinning like a fool, “Besides, anything you say is interesting.” She told him, a blush flooding both of their faces. 

“Is that how all Northerners practice?” A voice called from the distance and all three of them looked up to see Joffrey sauntering over, a smug look on his face. Myrcella’s heart dropped as dread filled her chest. 

“What would you know about practice?” Robb retorted, a scowl forming on his face. 

“More than you know, Stark.” Joff scoffed, rolling his eyes. At this point, Grey Wind had woken and wandered over, prowling behind Robb, a dark look in the wolf's eyes. 

“What do you want, Joff?” Myrcella asked, stepping in front of her betrothed. 

“To see the banks of the great Trident.” Joffrey grinned, a condescending look in his eyes. 

“Well you’ve seen it, goodbye.” Myrcella told him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Don’t be so rude now, sister,” Joffrey said holding his hand out, “Come now, let’s leave these Starks.” Myrcella swatted his hand away and frowned. How dare he try to ruin such a beautiful morning. 

“I’d rather not, they make much better company than you ever have.” She told him and his smile fell, a look of anger forming on his features. 

“One day, when I’m King, I will make you regret ever speaking to me like that. ” He told her, glaring daggers at her. 

“I doubt you will, Joff.” Myrcella said, rolling her eyes and scoffing. 

“We’re leaving!” He said, snatching her wrist and beginning to turn away. Grey Wind whipped around and growled deeply, bearing his teeth at Joffrey who let go, stumbling back as the direwolf settled himself at Myrcella’s feet, still growling. 

“You’ll regret this!” Joffrey exclaimed, regaining his footing as he stomped off, “You’ll all regret this!” 

Myrcella just sighed before smiling at the hound at her feet. She reached down and scratched between his ears. 

“You’ve just made yourself a new friend.” Robb said, a smile finding itself on his lips once more. Sansa had wandered over, a look of uncertainty on her face. 

“And an enemy.” Sansa whispered, her eyes staring down at her feet. Myrcella just laughed, shaking her head. 

“Joffrey can threaten all he likes, he’s nothing more than a brat.” Myrcella explained, still scratching at Grey Wind’s ears. “Let’s not have Joffrey’s rotten behavior spoil this morning.” 

Both of the Starks nodded, smiling softly. “Agreed.”


	10. Arya III

A summer snow had swept over Winterfell and blanked it a foot deep. Nothing the North couldn’t handle but it had been warmer than usual and the cold white winds sucked the heat right out of the castle. Of course, there had been little since Ned had left with the eldest Stark children but the last glimmer of happiness slipped out the door when the snow gripped the ground. Arya had been nothing but what she deemed perfect in the days since her father left. Her mother still wept at Bran’s sick bed and Rickon cried daily. Arya was sick of it all, having to act like everything was in order. Ser Rodrik had been left in charge of Winterfell but since she was the oldest, she sat by him in the Great Hall as he gave out orders and commands. It was interesting but she couldn’t give any of her thoughts even if she was allowed. The only solace Arya found was in Needle. She had begun practicing in her room with the door locked and Nymeria guarding. She was too nervous the first few days with her father gone to go find Robb’s gift out in the godswood. 

The night the snow swept in was when Arya worked up the courage. She dressed in the trousers and tunic she had taken from Bran. She then slipped on her fur boots, her grey wool cloak and her gloves. She took Needle and wrapped it in leather before tying rope at both ends which she slung over her shoulders. The castle was quiet as she slipped through the halls with Nymeria at her heels. The prospect of getting caught sneaking out, and with a sword strapped to her, terrified and exhilarated her all at once. 

It was a starless night, the clouds had left but not a shimmer of light was in the black sky. It was quiet as Arya crossed through the courtyard, the sound of snow crunching beneath her feet as she set her sight on the godswood. She slipped in, her breath shallow as she made a straight shot for the weirwood. The white trunk blended into the snow around it giving the illusion of dozens of bloodied hands reaching up from the ground. Behind the tree, away from the reflecting pond, was a mound buried under the snow but still noticeable. Arya slipped to her knees and began scoop away snow. 

“Dig.” Arya whispered to Nymeria, who even in the dark had shining yellow eyes. Her wolf got to work, pawing back snow as Arya dug deep. The snow melted through her gloves, turned them into nothing more than wet wool on her fingers but she continued as it soaked through her trousers and freezed her legs. What felt like an eternity later, a brown box emerged. She stood to her feet and pulled, yanking out a small trunk. 

Arya grinned triumphantly and yanked open the trunk. Inside was a wooden sword, a book and a letter. She threw the wooden sword aside and ripped open the letter, eyes scanning quickly to take in its meaning. 

_Arya,_  
_I know how hard it is for you with all of us gone, but remember to stay strong._  
_I’ve included a practice sword and a book on the fighting styles of Westeros and Essos._  
_It’s going to take time for you to get used to all of it but I know you’ll do get_  
_Remember to rebury this every night, you don’t want this being found._  
_With Love,_  
_Robb_

Arya smiled bashfully as she clutched the letter to her chest. “Thank you, Robb.” She whispered as she stuffed the letter in her pocket and reached back into the trunk, grabbing the book. 

It was worn, the lettering on the front almost gone and all the pages were yellowed and ruffled. For the next couple of hours, Arya scanned the pages, reading through styles of sword fighting in Westeros and Essos. After flipping through pages and pages of drawings and scribbles, she decided on one. The Braavosi Water Dance. She was small and quick, the motion in the book seemed to suit that so she picked up the wooden sword. Arya struggled holding the sword in one hand, it was heavy and strained her wrist but live steel was heavier. She whacked at trees, slid her feet through mounds of snow all while glancing back at the pages with the golden eyes of her direwolf staring at her every move. 

Arya hadn’t realized how long she had been at it, she only noticed when she looked up to the sky and the black was fading it a light gray, the sun beginning to rise up against the horizon. Arya was drenched in sweat, her muscles burning but her hands frozen. Her face was red and her breaths were hard. She threw down the wooden sword and flopped down onto her back, closing her eyes as clouds began to loom overhead like dark plumes of smoke. When Arya opened her eyes again, she saw flakes of snow floating from the sky and she found the strength to gather her things and shove them in the box which she then recovered with snow. Her and Nymeria ran back through the courtyard, the wind blowing harsh as they slipped back into the castle. 

As she closed her door behind her, Arya realized just how heavy her clothes were with wet snow. She quickly rid of her clothes, hanging them from a chair to dry. She hid Needle beneath her mattress before slipping under her covers. It was warm underneath the layers of wool and fur, her hands and feet stiff from the cold. She found sleep easily as the sun began to crest above the ground, casting an orange glow behind the clouds. Arya’s last thought before she fell into oblivion was of her father, smiling at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its another filler Arya chapter, but with this diversion back to the North, the next chapter will be Robb getting to Kings Landing and all that fun stuff.


	11. Robb III

Traveling the rest of the way to King’s Landing was no easy feat. Robb had ridden horse back the entire way there, Sansa had picked up the same half way through the journey, Myrcella followed not long after that. Robb had heard that traveling in the cart with the Queen was not all it was cracked up to be. More often than not she smelled of wine and said anything that came to her mind. Sansa told him that she had lost track of the amount of time’s the Queen had mentioned Willas Tyrell’s crippled leg in a less than positive light. 

Robb didn’t blame them for switching to mounts, in fact, it made his journey all the more worthwhile. Him, Sansa and Myrcella road in a pack, the three of them trotting along the King’s Road, marveling at the wonder’s of the world around them. Him and Myrcella had spent hour’s riding side by side, watching the world slip by them, telling stories of their childhood and laughing together. 

When he talked to her it was as if everything else ceased to be real, all that existed was this Golden Princess with her emerald eyes and kind lips. From the moment they mounted their steads to the time they parted ways to sleep, Robb’s mouth knew only a smile, as if it forgot that other expressions exist. 

Robb laid awake many night’s, eyes staring up at the nothingness above him with visions of Myrcella in his mind. He wondered if she had felt the same. Did his smiles cause her heart to beat a little faster? Did his laugh send a shiver down her spine? Did her hair stand on end each time his lips grazed her knuckles? Did she too, lie awake at night with the thought of him fogging her mind? 

The last few days of their travel it was early to rise, late to camp. The King wanted nothing more than to be within in castle walls and to be fair, Robb wanted the comforts of a featherbed more than ever. The last morning he had been roused early by Sansa who still had her hair in tangles, telling him to be ready within the half hour, most of the men were already mounted. 

They had been on the road for maybe an hour when the walls of King’s Landing came into view. Tall, tanned walls surround the city, even further in the distance were the crimson towers of the Red Keep, shooting into the early, misty morning sky like jagged cuts oozing dark. Robb missed it at first, sleep still filled his eyes, his mind still in a fog until Sansa had nudged him and simply pointed ahead. He was definitely not in the North anymore, it felt as if Winterfell was a lifetime away. 

“We’re going in through the Dragon Gate.” Myrcella rode upon him, his heart jumped out of surprise and joy as he turned to see her. She was clad in a gown of yellow, bright like rays of the sun which blended perfectly with her hair but made the green of her eye’s so much more vibrant.

“Will we see the Dragonpit?” Robb asked, smiling bashfully at her. 

“We will. We’ll ride over the Hill of Rhaenys, past the Dragonpit and luckily, over Flea Bottom.” she told him, flinching at the mention of Flea Bottom, the poorest area of the city that was said to smell more horrendous than a full chamber pot. “We’ll see the Sept of Baelor before we finally get to the Red Keep.” She told him, a smile on her lips. Robb nodded at her, a grin still prominent on his face. 

“Well, you’ll have to point out all of the notable things we’ll pass.” 

“I promise to do so.” 

When the walls were closer and the Dragon Gate in sight, the stench hit Robb. The smell of smoke was first, heavy and familiar to him but then there was the putrid, rotting stink of the city. A million people corralled behind one set of walls truly and utterly destroyed any hopes of a pleasant scent. It made his eyes water and his stomach churn but he fought through it. Sansa looked positively green in the face as she covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve. 

Beyond the smell, Robb had to admit there was a grandeur to the city. Coming upon the golden bars of the Dragon Gate, the flying beasts etched into the stone around it, and beyond that Robb could see it, the Dragonpit. 

“Gorgeous, is it?” Myrcella had rode upon him again, a wonder in her eyes as she stared into the beyond at the ruins on top of the Hill of Rhaenys. “I mean, it’s absolutely destroyed but there’s something about it that lures you in.” She told him and he had to agree. They rode into the city and all Robb could look at was the massive ruins of the Dragonpit. The blackened, decimated ruins of a once great building. The dome had collapsed in on itself, the last bits reaching up like claws into the sky. 

After riding past the gigantic ruin of long ago, Myrcella kept her promise. She pointed out everything of interest as they paraded through the streets. Markets and houses, pieces of history from long before he was born. They rode down the Street of the Sister where he saw the Guildhall of Alchemists, it’s black twisted marble a new sight to Robb. Myrcella whispered to him that it held Wildfyre which sent a shiver down his spine. 

After that there was the Sept of Baelor, it’s marble towers piercing the air ghastly white. First, he thought of the small Sept of Winterfell, pitiful in the shadow of the one of Baelor. Then, his heart was in his throat at the thought that inside of those marble walls was where he was to wed Myrcella. To be wed in such a foreign place, in front of god's not his own made his stomach churn. 

Then, as bright as day, there it was, The Red Keep. Pale red towers climbed into the sky, the walls the same color as they wrapped around each building. Something about it all was magnificent but the sight of the castle brought a suspicion crawling up Robb’s neck. A weight like lead settled in his stomach for reasons unknown, as if his mind was trying to warn him but about what? He could not figure it out so instead he turned his eyes to his bethroled. She road ahead of him, his sister at her side. Mane’s of fire and sunshine bounced of their backs as they road through gates and up cobbled stone paths. Myrcella turned around and flashed him a smile and for a moment, the dread was gone but still it lingered, telling Robb that something else was hiding in King’s Landing.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going missing last week but I’ve just finished Finals so I was super stressed and studying like a mad man last week, I kinda forgot I even needed to write. I hope you enjoy this weeks chapter though!


	12. Myrcella II

The journey to King’s Landing had been long and Myrcella was more than grateful to have the comfort of her featherbed once more. Yet, the first few days back within the walls of the Keep had been so hectic that she hadn’t found time to see her betrothed. 

When her marriage had been announced, Myrcella was struck to her very core with nerves. A Southern Princess marrying a Northern Lord? It was rarely heard of and her mother had planted a few seeds of doubt within her mind. That same night her mother had stolen into her room, reeking of wine and telling her that Northern men were more deceitful than the ones in the capital, that they were nothing more than savages. If the honorable Ned Stark could have a bastard, why couldn’t her betrothed? 

The slipping of little tales didn’t stop in her guest room inside Winterfell, they carried over to the cart they rode in back home. Her mother muttered out lies of northern men and mentioned the crippled knee of Sansa’s betrothed enough that the sweet Stark girl switched to horseback. Myrcella followed suit a few days later. 

Being on horseback, riding side by side with Robb washed all ideas of doubt in her mind away. He was charming and gentle, he made her laugh and his smile was more dazzling than any landscape they passed. Every night, he would drop her off at the front of her tent, bend down, and kiss her knuckles where his lips would linger for a moment or two before he wandered off. She would then drift into her tent, her heart fluttering and the part of her knuckles where his lips had been was burning. 

Myrcella would lay awake, her thoughts completely occupied by Robb. His smile, his laugh, his fiery hair that shone like copper in the sunshine. If his lips against her fingers felt so lovely, what would they feel like against her own? Her face was always bright red, blushing feverently. Hadn’t her Septa warned her against wanton thoughts like these? Septa be damned, she wanted Robb Stark to kiss her long and hard, to hold her in his arms and run his fingers through her golden hair. She wondered if Robb felt like this too. 

Four days had passed since she had been back home in King’s Landing and she hadn’t seen Robb once. She was too busy unpacking her own stuff, helping Tommen with his and being fawned over by her handmaids. She hadn’t seen one sign of the Starks, no flashes of river blue eyes or firey manes. Myrcella had decided when she was breaking her fast that she would seek out the Stark children. She dressed in a gown of gold and black, an onyx necklace around her throat and a tiara the color of raw steel in the shape of two antlers was nestled in her mass of sunshine curls. Once dressed, she asked one of her serving girls where the Stark’s where sleeping and headed on her way. 

In the Tower of the Hand, she found herself standing in front of Robb’s door, her hand just hovering over the wood as her heart was in her throat, sweat beading down her back. She had lost her nerve and couldn’t work up the courage to tap her knuckles on the door. Moment’s passed but they felt like years to Myrcella until the door next to her slipped open and out came Sansa, her hair in a long braid down her back. 

“Princess?” Sansa called, raising an eyebrow at her as her wolfling wandered out and stood at her mistresses side. “Robb isn’t in his room.” Sansa told her, closing her own door and smiling gently. 

“Oh, I thought it was yours.” Myrcella lied quickly, brandishing a nervous smile. “I wanted to show you around the Keep. How does an official tour sound?” Myrcella asked holding out her hand. Sansa nodded eagerly, a large smile emerging as she grabbed her hand and the two girls interlaced their fingers as Myrcella led them down the halls. While she had hoped to spend time with Robb, she was happy enough to show Sansa around the Keep. Sansa had been quiet at first but on the journey South, she had opened up and blossomed and the two had formed a strong bond. 

They wandered the halls together, the history of the Keep flowing out of Myrcella’s mouth with ease. When the got to the Great Hall, Sansa stared at the Iron Throne with a wonder in her eyes as Myrcella rambled on. From there, they explored the Godswood and the Sept, from the first one Sansa watched with wide eyes as she could see the Blackwater, dozens of boats dotting crystal blue waters.

As they walked through a courtyard filled with flowers and bushes near the Tower of the Hand, they heard the clash of steel and loud grunts and huffs. The two girls traded confused glances before they turned the corner towards the covered mance to see Robb and Jory Cassel, swords in each of their hands as they stood across from each other. 

“Come on now, Stark, give it to me!” Jory Cassel taunted with a laugh. Robb twirled his sword twice in his hand before taking a swing. 

Myrcella stopped and stared, her face bright red and her mouth a gape as she watched Robb train, sweat beading down his face. She had butterflies running amuck in her stomach as the two men fought, the singing of steel in the air as they tried to best each other. Robb landed a slash against Jory, even with the blunt edge of the sword, it left a small cut in his shoulder. As the two men stood apart, breathing heavily they caught the sight of Myrcella and Sansa, watching them. 

“Princess!” The two men dropped their swords and dipped into bows. Myrcella’s face turned even more red than it had been and a smile slipped across her lips. 

“Please, just call me Myrcella.” She said, “Sorry if I interrupted, I was just showing Sansa around the castle.” She gestured over to her friend who had plucked a rose from a nearby bush and was picking off the thorns as carefully as possible. Jory had picked up the two swords while Robb grabbed a rag, wiping the sweat from his face. 

“You’ve interrupted nothing, I’ve been meaning to spend time you with.” Robb told her, offering her his arm which she graciously took. 

“I have too but it’s been hectic.” Myrcella admitted, her cheeks still burning as they two of them left the covered mance, strolling around the garden. 

“Hopefully it’ll calm down but my father mentioned that they’re going to hold a tournament in his honor.” Robb informed her as they sat down on a bench underneath an oak tree, a soft breeze drifting through the air. 

“I heard, the Hand’s Tournament,” Myrcella noted, her hand slipping away from his arm. “Is that what you’re training for?” She asked, turning towards him. Suddenly, his hand was on hers and almost instinctively, their fingers were entwined together. She tried her best to ignore it but it was so difficult, her cheeks were turning red again. 

“I wish,” He told her, grinning sheepishly, “I’m not a knight yet and even if I was I doubt my father would let me compete.” Robb admitted, his eyes glancing down at their hands quickly before focusing back on her face. 

“Probably for the best,” Myrcella told him, a grin slipping over her lips, “You’d beat every knight from Dorne to Bear Island.” 

“You flatter me, Myrcella.” Robb said, his own face turning red. 

“I only speak the truth.” She giggled and a laugh rose from his lips as well. 

“Perhaps it is the best I can’t compete in the Tourney,” Robb said, his gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to lock eyes with her, “because when I’d win, I’d have to announce you as the Queen of Love and Beauty.” Myrcella’s heart was beating so hard within her chest that she worried it might crack one of her ribs. 

“Who’s flattering who now?” Myrella teased, her face burning. 

Robb’s hand slipped away from hers and rested softly upon her cheek. She wondered if he could feel just how hot she was, that her skin flamed under his touch. She couldn’t stop staring at him, even if the god’s struck her down she couldn’t pull her gaze away from his river blue eyes and his soft smile. She felt him begin to lean in, closer and closer until a flare of confidence burst inside of her and she closed the gap between them. As soon as their lips touched, Myrcella could feel a fire ignite in her chest and she saw stars behind her eyes. Her hands found his chest to pull him closer and the hand that was cupping her cheek was now tangled in her curls. 

What felt like an eternity later, the two of them pulled away, faces flushed and breaths coming in short, hard breaths. Their hands slipped down to their laps where they entertained their fingers together before resting their foreheads against each others. The wind began to blow through their hair, a song bird chirped a tune and the smell of flowers was heavy in the air as they sat together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fuck sorry for like....kinda abandoning this fic....I just did not...have the motivation or inspiration to write anything. but! I'm back (tentatively) so!! get excited (tentatively) !!


	13. Sansa III

The first few days in the capital where hard for Sansa. Her new handmaids were kind to her but behind her back she heard their whispers about her betrothed, none of which was kind. She saw Robb during meals and that was it, she saw her father even less and while Myrcella tried her hardest to be with her, often times she was with Robb and if Sansa joined them, she felt more like a third wheel. She had attended the Royal Court once or twice but felt like an outsider as she stood among the crowd, the harsh eyes of the Queen and Prince Joffrey making her stomach feel uneasy. So she wandered the halls of the Keep, her direwolf at her side as she tried her hardest to shake her foul mood.

One morning, while breaking her fast with Myrcella, the golden Princess gave her an idea. Sansa confided in her friend that she felt alone in the capital, that while she appreciated spending time with her, she still couldn’t shake the feelings over isolation. Myrcella gave her a sad smile, apologized for being so absent then told her she should reach for a quill and parchment and write a letter to her betrothed. Highgarden wasn’t too far away from King’s Landing, a raven would get there in a day or two and it would be a good idea for her to get to know her future husband. 

Sansa then spent the day locked in her room, sitting at her table by the balcony, bathing in sunlight as she wrote letter after letter, trying to perfect what she wanted to say. When she finished, two hours had passed, a dozen crumbled letters sat scattered on the floor and Lady slept at her feet. Sansa’s hand ached from writing over and over again, and she had gone through nearly half of a bottle of ink. Satisfied, she sat back and read over her letter once more. 

_Dear Willas Tyrell,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am sure by now you’ve heard I have arrived in King’s Landing, news seems to travel quiet fast in the South. I am scheduled to leave for Highgarden after the Hand’s Tournament which begins in less than a week._

_I wait eagerly to meet you, I have heard so much about you. The horses you breed are easily the best in Westeros, they are the favorites in the Winterfell stables, I even rode one of your mares on my travel South. She was beautiful and well tempered, even for a novice like me she was easy to ride._

_My brother Robb tells me you like to read and study so many different things. I have always wanted to know more than what my Septa taught me. Perhaps once I reach Highgarden, you’d be willing to share with me your knowledge? If it’s not too much to ask of you, that is._

_Each day that passes, I find myself more excited to leave King’s Landing and make the trip to Highgarden. I hope you are just as eager to meet me as I am to meet you._

_Yours,_

_Sansa Stark of Winterfell._

With a fluttering heart, Sansa quickly folded up her letter and sealed it with wax. She opened her door and flagged down a handmaid, asking her nicely to rush the letter off to the aviary. After that, she walked back into her room, gathered up her ruined parchment and threw it into the fire to use for kindling later that night. Sansa then walked out onto the balcony and felt the sun warm her cheeks, her eyes closed as a breeze tossed around her curls. Minutes later when she opened her eyes, she saw a raven fly off, a letter strapped to its legs.


	14. Willas II

“Lord Willas!” A servant called down the dining hall, turning the heads of his family as well as his own. The boy came rushing down the stairs and towards his chair, a letter clutched in his hands. The servant came over to him as he set down his cup, the clatter of forks and cups had stopped as his siblings and grandmother had turned their attention towards him. 

“A letter from King’s Landing.” The servant boy told him, handing him the sealed letter. 

“From Loras?” Willas asked, sitting up in his chair, knowing his youngest brother was in the capital for the Hand’s Tournament. The boy shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

“No, my lord.” 

“Well, thank you.” Willas said, turning over the letter, noting that while the writing was soft and feminine, it wasn’t that of his brothers. Neither was the wax seal. Raising an eyebrow, Willas peeled the wax away, feeling the eyes of his siblings burrowing into him. 

Quickly, he read over the letter, his heart beating faster and faster as his eyes scanned on and on. His suspicions over the author of the letter were confirmed to be true when he looked at the bottom of the page. 

Sansa Stark of Winterfell. 

His face was bright red, sweat beading down his back. Why was he so nervous over receiving a letter? Suddenly, the letter was snatched out of his hands and Garlan was looming over him. 

“If you aren’t going to share, then I guess I’ll have to.” Garlan announced which only turned Willas’ face a brighter shade. A few moments of silence loomed over them all as Garlan’s own eyes scanned the parchment before he gasped. 

“Oooo,” Garlan chimed, “Willas got a love letter!” his brother laughed, circling around the table away from him. 

“What? From who?” said his sister Margaery, chestnut curls flying around her face as she whipped around in her chair to look at Garlan.

“Who do you think?” His grandmother sighed, rolling her eyes, “it’s from the Stark girl.” 

“What’s it say?” Margaery asked, an eager look in her eyes. Garlan cleared his throat and held the letter up high. Garlan began reading, his voice an octave higher than natural in an attempt to sound like a girl. Margaery looked at him with a sly smile as Garlan read on and on. He got more dramatic as he read and soon Margaery was laughing loudly. Towards the end, Willas stood from his chair with the help of his cane and wandered over to his brother who refused to stop. As he got to the last few sentences, Willas lifted up his cane and smacked his brother in the arm before ripping the letter from his grasp.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to read other people’s letters?” Willas scolded him as he began to walk off. 

“Where are you going?” His grandmother called after him. 

“Where do you think?” Garlan snorted, “he’s going  
to write her back!”

“Oooo, Willas has a crush on the Stark girl!” Margaery teased as Willas pushed through the doors of the dining hall, his face bright red.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he sat down at his desk, his hand instinctively rubbing the soreness out of his knee. He pulled the letter from his pocket and took the time to fully read it, his heart beating excitedly in his chest. He took a moment or two to breath before he reached over for his own parchment and quill. 

It took him a lot longer to gather his thoughts than he had hoped, by the time he had a letter he liked well enough, he has wasted 6 other pieces of parchment. Cracking his knuckles, Willas sat back and read over his work. 

_Dear Sansa Stark,_

_It is so wonderful to hear from you. I hope they have been treating you well in the Capital. My brother Loras will be riding in the joust at the Hand’s Tournament. If you see him, don’t hesitate to say hello, he can be quiet nice._

_I am glad you are eager to come to Highgarden, we are all excited to receive you. As the days pass, my heart grows more and more heavy at the fact that I have not met you yet. When you get here, I would be happy to help you indulge in whatever you wish. My own personal library is extensive and I can not wait to share my passion for books with you, among other things._

_Do not be hesitant to write me, Sansa, I want nothing more than to get to know you for who you truly are._

_With love,  
Willas Tyrell._

Letting out a sigh once more, Willas folded his letter and sealed it. He then grabbed another piece of parchment, scrawled out a quick message for Loras before taking both of the letters down to the aviary. 

The sun was warm on his shoulders as he tied the letters to his fastest raven. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the bird fly away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had classes canceled the past two days so I wrote a bit and couldn’t contain my excitement so a double upload!! I hope you all like it!!


	15. Robb IV

Robb rode to Hand’s tourney on horseback, his eyes eagerly drinking in the world around him. Beyond the pale red walls of the city, hundreds of pavilions were raised besides the banks of the river as the common folk came out by the thousands to watch the games. For once, the splendor of the city was taking over Robb. The shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the shouts of the crowd, the banners snapping in the wind . . . and the knights themselves, the knights most of all. Of course there were knights in Winterfell but there were dozens upon dozens of them from all reaches of the Seven Kingdoms and some from beyond that. 

Robb found his place high among the other lords and ladies who offered him kind smiles. He wore doublet of dark green which brought out the fire in his hair. A direwolf sat howling on his chest and he wore dark brown trousers and matching boots lined with white fur. Quickly, he spotted his sister, also wearing green to brighten her long curls, and next to her was Myrcella. The princess was cloaked in a rich purple gown, her hair in long golden waves down her back. Robb felt his heart rise into his throat when she caught sight of him and smiled. He took his place between his sister and his betrothed as the tournament began. 

They watched the heroes of a hundred songs ride forth, each more fabulous than the last. The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but Jaime Lannister in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as fresh fallen snow. Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion’s head helm and a golden sword. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. Robb fondly remembered Lord Yohn Royce, who had guested at Winterfell two years before. 

“His armor is bronze, thousands and thousands of years old, engraved with magic runes that ward him against harm,” Sansa told him, a grin on her face as Myrcella giggled. 

Robb then pointed out Lord Jason Mallister, in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. He had cut down three of Rhaegar’s bannermen on the Trident. The girls giggled over the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, until Robb grinned and told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand.

After that came riders from near and far, most of which Robb did not know of. hedge knights from the Fingers and Highgarden and the mountains of Dorne, unsung freeriders and new-made squires, the younger sons of high lords and the heirs of lesser houses. Then out rode more men, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother Ser Robar, their silvered steel plate filigreed in bronze with the same ancient runes that warded their father. The twins Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, whose shields displayed the grape cluster sigil of the Redwynes, burgundy on blue. Then there were 6 Freys of the Crossing. 

The Hound entered the lists as well, and so too the king’s brother, handsome Lord Renly of Storm’s End. Jory, Alyn, and Harwin rode for Winterfell and the north. Robb couldn’t contain his excitement as Jory rode across the field, cheering loudly for him even if he seemed to look like a beggar amongst the grandeur of the rest of the knights. Jory’s armor was blue-grey plate without device or ornament, and a thin grey cloak hung from his shoulders like a soiled rag. Yet he acquitted himself well, unhorsing Horas Redwyne in his first joust and one of the Freys in his second. In his third match, he rode three passes at a freerider named Lothor Brune whose armor was as drab as his own. Neither man lost his seat, but Brune’s lance was steadier and his blows better placed, and the king gave him the victory. Alyn and Harwin fared less well; Harwin was unhorsed in his first tilt by Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard, while Alyn fell to Ser Balon Swann. 

The jousting went all day and into the dusk, the hooves of the great warhorses pounding down the lists until the field was a ragged wasteland of torn earth. With each hit the crowd cried out in unison as one man fell from his horse while the other rode steady. The smile on Robb’s face was wide, only made wider when a particularly bad hit caused Myrcella to reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. He always squeezed back and gave her a kind smile, turning her face red which in turn made him laugh. The only thing that could have made him happier would have been if he was riding himself. That idea changed as the joust went on and on and he realised he wouldn’t have lasted the first round. 

The Kingslayer rode brilliantly, despite how little Robb cared for the man. He overthrew Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord Bryce Caron as easily as if he were riding at rings, and then took a hard-fought match from white-haired Barristan Selmy, who had won his first two tilts against men thirty and forty years his junior.

Sandor Clegane and his immense brother, Ser Gregor the Mountain, seemed unstoppable as well, riding down one foe after the next in ferocious style. The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor’s second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Robb was seated. 

The entire tournament seemed to fall quiet, as both Sansa and Myrcella clutched one of his hands. Neither of the girls had ever seen a man die and while they didn’t cry, he could feel both of their shoulders tense up. Robb had seen men die plenty of times, he’d seen the beheading of many a deserter from the Watch but never had he seen someone die so violently. He couldn’t tear his eyes away even if he tried, something about it was so intriguing yet ultimately so sad.

The point of Ser Gregor’s lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life’s blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer’s day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

After they carried off the body, a boy with a spade ran onto the field and shoveled dirt over the spot where he had fallen, to cover up the blood. Then the jousts resumed. Ser Balon Swann also fell to Gregor, and Lord Renly to the Hound. Renly was unhorsed so violently that he seemed to fly backward off his charger, legs in the air. His head hit the ground with an audible crack that made the crowd gasp, but it was just the golden antler on his helm. One of the tines had snapped off beneath him. He gifted it to the Hound who threw it into the crowd of common folk which erupted into a frenzy. 

In the end it came down to four; the Hound and his monstrous brother Gregor, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer, and Ser Loras Tyrell, the youth they called the Knight of Flowers. Robb knew Loras to be the youngest of the Tyrell children and someone who would soon to be his good-brother. Sansa cheered eagerly for him, a fire in her eyes as she watched him ride. He had no doubt she was supporting him on the pure fact that he was brother to her betrothed. Yet, Robb had to admit that at just sixteen, Ser Loras was quiet the rider, he had unhorsed three knights of the Kingsguard that morning in his first three jousts. Robb watched as Ser Loras would ride around the fence after each fictory and throw out a white rose to one of the many lady’s. 

His last match of the day was against the younger Royce. Ser Robar’s ancestral runes proved small protection as Ser Loras split his shield and drove him from his saddle to crash with an awful clangor in the dirt. Robar lay moaning as the victor made his circuit of the field. Finally they called for a litter and carried him off to his tent, dazed and unmoving. The whole crowd cheered for Loras but Robb swore that Sansa’s was louder than them all. Robb and Myrcella were laughing when he heard her cheers stop. He looked over and saw that Loras had stopped his horse in front of Sansa, in his hands was a rose the color of fire. 

“Lady Sansa, my brother Willas made me promise that if I made it to the finals, to give this to you in his honor.” He handed her the rose and Sansa held it so delicately that it seemed if she breathed on it it would fall to dust. “We all eagerly await your arrival to Highgarden, my lady.”   
Loras then turned to Robb and flashed a smile. 

“You must be Robb,” he said, “You and I will be good-brother’s soon, just know that Highgarden is open to you as well.” 

“I appreciate your invitation Ser Loras, you rode well today.” Robb smiled to which Loras nodded. 

“Thank you,” he then looked around the crowd before smiling once more, “Do not be a stranger.” He said before riding off. 

“He’s quiet the rider but I bet you could beat him.” Myrcella whispered in Robb’s ear, which made goose pimples run down his neck. He simply chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. 

“You flatter me, princess,” Robb told her, blush creeping up his face, “but I have no experience in jousting, I’m afraid I’d lose in the first round of a tourney. ”

“I’ve seen you fight, you’re fantastic at it.” Myrcella told him, a fire in her eyes and a grin on her lips. 

“Fighting and jousting are two different fields, one of which I’ve never done.” Robb tried to argue but the princess was not having it. 

“I’d bet all the money in the Iron Bank that you could win a joust.” Myrcella told him crossing her arms, passionate and unwavering from her stance. Robb couldn’t help but laugh at her, shaking his head as he did so. 

“Myrcella, you have the looks of a Lion and the name of a Stag but you are a stubborn as a Bull.” Robb told her, a grin still wide on his face. 

“I grew up with two brothers, what did you expect?” She asked, a sly grin on her own lips. She then shrugged and said, “Besides, it’s more useful to know how to sword-fight than it is to know how to joust.” 

By then, the moon was well up and the crowd was tired, so the king decreed that the last three matches would be fought the next morning, before the melee. While the commons began their walk home, talking of the day’s jousts and the matches to come on the morrow, the court moved to the riverside to begin the feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about this fic! I know it's been two weeks but I'm still here! School is absolutely kicking my ass, between studying and clubs and work, I've got like no free time but I managed to write something! I hope you guys like it!


	16. Sansa IV

The tournament had been like a dream to Sansa and it had been made even better once Loras had given her a rose. Most of the girls who had been gifted his flowers were swooning over the young knight himself but Sansa was head over heels with Willas. Even though they hadn’t met and their only words to each other were threw letters, he took the time to have his brother give her his favor for him. As her and the other royals made their way to the banks of the river for the feast, Sansa clutched the rose to her chest. Amongst the commotion, she lost her brother and the Princess, worry trickling down her spin as she searched among the tables and benches on the pavillions for her spot. 

“Lady Sansa,” a voice called and she turned around to see Joffrey behind her, a smile on his face. He wore a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lion’s heads, and around his brow a slim coronet made of gold and sapphires. His hair was as bright as the metal just like his sisters. She had no doubt he was handsome but ever since their first meeting and the one’s while traveling, she had learned to steer clear of the Prince. 

“Good evening, my Prince. I was looking for my brother.” She told him in a weak willed attempt to escape. 

“No need, he’ll be with my sister.” He said, waving his hand in dismissal, “You should come with me, a proper lady never sits alone.” He told her, grabbing onto her arm and leading her down the rows and rows of seating. His grip on her was tight and something about it seemed to burn her skin. She wanted nothing more than to break free of his grasp but she dared not to disobey the Prince. Frantically, her eyes were scanning the crowds to find her brother or Myrcella or someone who would help her. 

“Here, you can sit right next to me.” Joffrey told her, pulling out a chair for her, the place high among the people of the court. She couldn’t move though, she seemed to be stuck in place with her heart hammering in her chest as fear sunk in her belly like lead. His smile turned sour and the pout on his lips turned into a scowl. He grabbed her wrist hard and pulled her forward until their faces were inches apart. 

“Sit. Now. Like the good little bird you are.” Joffrey growled at her, an anger burning deep in his eyes. Sansa gently shook her head no, a tremor under her tongue as she felt hot tears swell in her eyes. 

“Lady Sansa!” A voice called for her and she whipped her head around as Joffrey released her wrist. Loras Tyrell was walking over to her, a grin on his face. 

“I’ve been looking for you, my lady.” Loras said as he approached, offering her his arm which she graciously wrapped her hand around. “Princess Myrcella and your brother invited me to sit with them and sent me to find you as well.” Relief washed over Sansa like a calm breeze and a smile was quickly on her face. 

“Thank you Ser Loras. Lead the way.” Sansa said, gesturing off handedly. Loras flashed a smile once more and lead her down tables and benches once more to a pavilion across the field. Robb and Myrcella offered quick apologizes for not having kept better track of her before she took her seat and the feast began. 

The night passed on splendidly. The servants kept the cups filled but Sansa couldn’t recall ever tasting wine. She was drunk on the magic of the night, giddy with glamour, swept away by beauties she had dreamt of all her life and never dared hope to know. Loras, Robb, Myrcella and her talked all night long. They told stories of their childhoods, complement one another, laughed at the jokes of the court jester Moon Boy. During one course Loras and Robb dove completely into a tangent on the best sword fighting techniques while Sansa and Myrcella shared bits of court gossip. They talked of everything and anything that came to their minds. The political state of Westeros, the wonders of the Free Cities beyond the Narrow Sea, the events of long before they were born and the very distant and nearly unimaginable future. 

All the while the courses came and went. A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. Sansa had never eaten snails before; Loras showed her how to get the snail out of the shell, and fed her the first sweet morsel himself. Then came trout fresh from the river, baked in clay; Myrcella helped her crack open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within. And when the meat course was brought out, Loras served her himself, slicing a queen’s portion from the joint, smiling as he laid it on her plate. 

Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them. She was wondering whether she might attempt a third when the king began to shout.

King Robert had grown louder with each course. From time to time Sansa could hear him laughing or roaring a command over the music and the clangor of plates and cutlery, but they were too far away for her to make out his words. 

Now everybody heard him. “No,” he thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. “You do not tell me what to do, woman,” he screamed at Queen Cersei. “I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!”

Sansa quickly looked down at her plate, the entire court having gone dead silent as the King ragged on and on. Myrcella was red with embarrassment and possible fury at her father as Loras looked worriedly at the King’s youngest brother Lord Renly as he tried to tame the King. Moments had passed and the feast was back up to a dull roar as the King was rangaled in. 

“It grows late,” Loras said a look of concern on his face as his eyes kept flicking back over to where the King sat with Lord Renly still talking away. “Would you like me to take you back to the castle?” He asked Sansa and she looked around but once more found Myrcella and Robb nowhere within sight. 

“If it isn’t too much trouble, Ser Loras.” She told him and he nodded, quickly standing from his seat and offering her his arm. They walked briskly back towards King’s Landing and the Keep. No conversation was between them but Sansa knew that something else was on Loras’ mind the way he kept looking back towards the feast at the banks of the river. 

He lead her all the way to the Tower of the Hand before he stopped outside of the door.  
“I had a wonderful time this evening, my Lady but I have something else that needs attending.” He admitted to her, bowing low before her. She smiled and nodded at him, a knowing look in her eyes. 

“It’s fine. Go do what you need, Ser Loras.” She told him setting her hand on the door to push it open. 

“Please, just call me Loras. You and I will be good-siblings soon, no need for such formalities.” He told her, a fleeting smile on his lips. She nodded once more. 

“Goodnight then, Loras.” 

“Goodnight Sansa.” 

With that, Loras wandered off back towards the banks of the river and Sansa pushed open the door and wandered back toward her room. As she got close, she heard other footsteps, fast and heavy ones. She turned around just outside of her door and stalking up behind her was Joffrey. An angry look was plastered on his face and if he could have, he would have breathed fire like a dragon. Suddenly, she felt her legs go weak beneath her and her breath hitch. 

“Prince Joffrey..” She stuttered out, pressing her back against her door as he came closer. 

“Lady Sansa.” He said, closing the distance to stand in front of her, a scowl etched onto his face. “I hope you had a good time at the feast. It was very rude of you to abandon your future King.” He hissed, eyes narrow and dark. 

“I...I’m sorry if I o...offended you, your Grace. I already had...a place with Ser Loras and my brother.” She stammered, tears swelling once more in her eyes as he towered over her. 

“You sound just like one of those birds from the Summer Isle, speaking all the nice pretty words they taught you.” He sneered, rolling his eyes. “I ought to have forced you to stay. Besides, you were meant to be mine. Mother promised!” He said, waving his hand in the air wildly. Sansa began to sob, her hands buried in her face in fear as she tried to make her self smaller and smaller. Joffrey began to rant and rave again until another voice called out. 

“You have three seconds!” Sansa peeked up over her hands and Joffrey whipped around to see Myrcella standing there one hand gripping the handle to Robb’s door. 

“Three seconds until what, you call for daddy?” Joffrey teased his sister, rolling his eyes again. 

“Three seconds to get away from Sansa before I open this door. Behind it is a direwolf who would be glad to make a meal out of you.” Myrcella stood her ground and began to count as she slowly began to push open the door, the sound of growls coming out of the crack. Once she hit two, Joffrey stalked towards her, leaving Sansa to fall against her door, gasping for air like she had been pushed underwater. 

“You’ll regret this.” Joffrey grumbled at Myrcella who rolled her own eyes. 

“Sure I will.” She said before her brother stalked off, mumbling to no one but himself. She closed the door and rushed over to Sansa who had tears streaming down her face like waterfalls. Myrcella helped her onto her feet and into her room where she brushed out Sansa’s hair and got out her night clothes before apologizing for the entire day and night. Myrcella then kissed Sansa on the forehead before wishing her a goodnight. 

After changing into her night clothes, Sansa lit a few candles on her vanity as she pulled out paper and a quill to quickly write a letter to Willas. 

_My Willas,_

_Today was the first day of the tournament and even though it was the most fantastic thing I’ve seen so far in the South, it only made me wish for the days to pass by even faster._

_I saw your brother Loras joust today, he was an amazing rider and he even gave me the flower you promised him to give me. I will always cherish this rose. After a wonderful day, it took a sour note when the Prince followed me to my room and yelled at me, I think he was drunk._

_The days can not pass fast enough, my heart aches more each second that I have not met you yet.  
There are four more days to the tournament, after that I’ll be on my way to Highgarden where we can start our lives together. I hate it here in the Capital and I am truly eager to be there with you Willas. _

_With Love,  
Sansa. _

Quickly she sealed the letter before blowing out the candles and falling into her bed. Lady crawled up as well, a familiar warmth that was more than welcoming to Sansa. She slipped the letter under her pillow, wrapped her arms around her wolf and thought of her husband as she drifted off into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors notes more like author apology corner. Sorry once more for not being consistent, as I’ve said before life is kicking my ass so it’s been a struggle to write. But as always, I hope you enjoyed!


	17. Myrcella III

The Hand’s Tournament came and went like a dream. It felt like it went faster than it came. The end of the tourney not only meant that the fantastic fights and feasts left but Sansa as well. Myrcella had grown fond of the Stark girl, they ate together daily, did needlework together and when Myrcella wasn’t with Robb she was with Sansa. They traded their hopes, dreams, secrets and clothes. They each considered the other the sister they never had. 

In preparation for her departure for Highgarden, Sansa spent two days packing and organizing her possessions. Myrcella helped her friend eagerly. The second day was when they did the most packing. Dresses were strewn across Sansa’s room like her wardrobe and dresser had exploded. Piles of silk and satin and velvet were piled on the bed, the table and chairs. Belts, necklaces, pins and anything else made of metal and encrusted with jewels was scattered across her vanity. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do with my old dresses.” Sansa said, eyebrows furrowed as she folded a dress the color of the noonday sky. 

“I’ll take them.” Myrcella told her, shrugging her shoulders as she sorted through the piles of jewels and metal. “Robb said he wanted to go North after the wedding.” she told her friend, untangling the chains of two different necklaces. 

“It’s funny,” Sansa said, Myrcella turning to face her as she packed away a dress in her large trunk, “I’m trading in my wools and furs for silks and satin and you’re doing the opposite.” Sansa chuckled and shook her head as Myrcella grinned. 

“Southern silks and Northern furs.” Myrcella giggled as she went back to sorting through the pile of accessories. It was silent for awhile as the two of them sorted and packed but then Sansa piped up. 

“Promise me this won’t be the last time we see each other.” Sansa said, worry seeping into her tone. Myrcella turned around and grabbed her friends hand, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. 

“Of course it won’t be, Sansa, we’re going to be good-sisters.” Myrcella said a smile flicking across her lips, “I’ll be there at your wedding and you at mine.” Sansa nodded gently, a smile overtaking her own face. The girls broke apart and once more returned to their duties of sorting and packing. 

“Are you nervous to go to Highgarden?” Myrcella asked as she stuffed the sorted through accessories into a large velvet sack.

“Not as much as I thought I would be,” Sansa told her, folding a gown of purple over her arm, “Ever since Willas and I began trading letters, I have been more excited to meet him than scared.” 

“Have you gotten his latest letter?” Myrcella asked and Sansa nodded, pointing over to the table by her bedside, a folded over letter sitting upon it. Myrcella quickly crossed the room to it and picked it up, her eyes scanning over her friends letter from her betrothed. 

_My dearest Sansa,_

_I am so pleased to hear that you enjoyed your days at the tourney as well as the flowers Loras has gifted you on my behalf. Trust me, I wished of nothing more than to have been the one to give you those roses but alas, Loras is there and I am here so we have to make do for now don’t we my love?_

_As for your encounter with the Prince, pay him no mind. He is only jealous that he does not have your beauty for himself. It seems Myrcella has your back, If I was her, I would have opened that door and let your brother’s direwolf go after that stubborn brat._

_The tournament will have drawn to a close by the time you get this letter which I’m sure pains you but I can not wait to finally meet you. Loras told me you were beautiful but not even his words will be able to prepare my heart for the first time I see you._

_Stay safe on the journey down the Rose Road and I will see you soon Sansa. Soon._

_Love,  
Willas_

Myrcella let out a loud and high pitched “aww” as she finished the letter, clutching it to her chest. Sansa’s cheeks lit up cherry red as she attempted to contain her smile. 

“He’ll be so good to you Sansa.” Myrcella said as she crossed the room over to her friend and clutched her hands. 

“I hope so,” Sansa said, looking down at her feet, “I hope Willas and I can be like you and Robb.” she mumbled and Myrcella grinned. 

“You’ll be better than us, I know it.” 

Hours passed on as the girls finished packing and sorting, taking a break to sit on the balcony and eat their lunch and supper. Once the sun had settled well below the horizon and the stars shone above, they finally finished stuffing all of Sansa’s belongings into her trunk. 

“Thank you for helping me, Myrcella.” Sansa told her friend, a tired smile on her lips. Myrcella planted her hands on her hips and sighed, nodding her head. 

“Of course, I know you’d do the same for me.” Myrcella said with a grin of her own. 

“You’ll be there, right?” Sansa looked worried for a moment or two, “when I leave on the morrow?” Myrcella just laughed and pulled her friend into a hug. 

“Of course I’ll be there. I’ll stand and wave until I can’t see the last of your caravan.” She pulled away and kissed the forehead of her friend. “But until then, we both need our rest.” 

“Goodnight Myrcella.” 

“Goodnight Sansa.” 

With that, Myrcella quickly slipped out of her friends room, closing the door behind her. The night air was still and cool as the stars shone above her as she made her way from the Tower of the Hand back to her own chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast. As she made her way through the halls, she heard the mewling sounds of a cat. The first thought in her mind was that of Tommen and his love of cats. Quickly, she followed the sounds, straying off her path as she wandered through the twisting halls and down winding stairs. 

Soon enough, Myrcella was lost in her own home. 15 years she had occupied those castle walls and suddenly, after chasing the sounds of a cat she didn’t know where she had ended up. She didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. Hoping to find an exit if she continued her descent, she carried on down the winding staircase. As she neared the end of it, she heard voices. Slowing her footsteps, she crept toward the bottom, slowly recognizing the area as the cellars. The small, yellow glow of candle light flickered off in the distance, the shadows of two men thrown against the walls like giants. Myrcella pressed herself into an opening between the staircase and the wall as the voices of the men echoed through the chambers. 

“ . . . found one bastard,” one said, his voice eerily familiar to her but in the dark of the cellar, in the fear of being discovered, she couldn’t place it. “The rest will come soon. A day, two days, a fortnight . . . ” 

“And when he learns the truth, what will he do?” a second voice asked in the liquid accents of the Free Cities. “The gods alone know,” the first voice said. Myrcella could see a wisp of grey smoke drifting up off the torch, writhing like a snake as it rose. “The fools tried to kill his son, and what’s worse, they made a mummer’s farce of it. He’s not a man to put that aside. I warn you, the wolf and lion will soon be at each other’s throats, whether we will it or no.” 

“Too soon, too soon,” the voice with the accent complained. “What good is war now? We are not ready. Delay.” 

“As well bid me stop time. Do you take me for a wizard?” The shadows grew smaller yet became more apparent to her as the two men made way for the stairs. Her breath was in her throat, her hand clamped over her mouth.

The other chuckled. “No less.” Flames danced in the cold air as the shadows grew closer and closer. With a pit in her stomach, Myrcella slipped down to her knees, pressed herself in the corner of the alcove, wanting nothing more than to disappear from sight. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished to wake up from this nightmare. 

“What would you have me do?” asked the one. 

“If one Hand can die, why not a second?” replied the man with the accent “You have danced the dance before, my friend.”

Her heart was in her throat then, her stomach having rolled over upon itself and it took everything in her power not to vomit. 

“Before is not now, and this Hand is not the other.” grumbled the other. 

“Perhaps so,” the accented one replied, their voices echoing just above her as they stopped to catch their breath. “Nonetheless, we must have time. The princess is with child. The khal will not bestir himself until his son is born. You know how they are, these savages.”

“If he does not bestir himself soon, it may be too late” the other complained, “This is no longer a game for two players, if ever it was. Stannis Baratheon and Lysa Arryn have fled beyond my reach, and the whispers say they are gathering swords around them. The Knight of Flowers writes to his father urging to send his only daughter to court, perhaps to entice the Prince or even Renly. With the Stark girl already heading to Highgarden and the princesses tied to the North, my reach is limited. Littlefinger . . . the gods only know what game Littlefinger is playing. Yet Lord Stark’s the one who troubles my sleep. He has the bastard, he has the book, and soon enough he’ll have the truth. And now his wife has abducted Tyrion Lannister, thanks to Littlefinger’s meddling. Lord Tywin will take that for an outrage, and Jaime has a queer affection for the Imp. If the Lannisters move north, that will bring the Tullys in as well, maybe even the Tyrells and the Baratheons. Delay, you say. Make haste, I reply. Even the finest of jugglers cannot keep a hundred balls in the air forever.”

“You are more than a juggler, old friend. You are a true sorcerer. All I ask is that you work your magic awhile longer.” The accented man chuckled and they began their ascent up the stairs, their voices fading into nothing. 

Myrcella sat in her corner for along while, for what seemed like a century after their voices were gone. When she finally climbed to her feet, her legs were shaky under her and she clutched the wall as her head spun. She made it up a few steps before she bent over heaving, all of the food she had eaten in the day ripping up her throat while tears flooded her face. 

After leaving a pool of bile on the stairs, Myrcella ran for her life, through halls and stairways, bursting out of the first set of doors to the outside she saw. When she made it into the cool night, the wind brushing her burning cheeks, she found herself in the middle bailey, having come out of the Maidenvault. Her only thoughts were of Robb, she had to tell him what she heard. She ran through the bailey and back into the Tower of the Hand like death was at her heels. Upon reaching Robb’s door, she knocked frantically, her knuckles turning red as she hit the wood over and over until it swung open. 

Robb stood in his doorway, Grey Wind by his side, a robe pulled over him and his hair a mess, sleep still in his eyes. 

“ ‘Cella? What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I need to tell you something.” She said, pushing past him into his room. He closed the door behind her and was suddenly alert, he could probably tell by the look on her face that whatever she had to say wasn’t going to be good. 

“What happened?” He asked as she sat down on the edge of his bed, her fist clenched in the skirts of her dress. He placed his hand on her back and Grey Wind flopped down at her feet. Myrcella quickly broke down into tears and Robb pulled her into his arms as she sobbed, her face buried in his chest. He was warm and smelled of pine and mint, his being a comfort to her. When she finally steadied herself and pulled away, his face with filled with concern. 

“When I finished helping Sansa pack her things, I left and headed for my room but got distracted by a cat. I thought it might be stuck or hurt so I went to go find it to bring to Tommen. Instead of finding a cat I found myself lost in the Keep and I overhead two men talking.” The tears were running down her face again as she kept her hands clenched in her skirts. She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears but it didn’t work. 

“They were talking about people. They said that Lord Stark had the book, the bastard and if one Hand could die why not a second? They mentioned you and me and Sansa. They said that this wasn’t a game for two players any more.” Her tears had dried up but small hiccups escaped her lips as she buried her face in her hands. 

“By the Gods, Robb, I’m so scared!” She cried, shoulders heaving. Robb pulled her into his arms again and shushed her, his hand running up and down her back. Moments passed and when they broke away again, Robb had a look of anger and worry etched into his features. 

“Myrcella, did you get a look at these men?” He asked and she shook her head frantically. 

“No, I didn’t. I was so scared they would find me I couldn’t have opened my eyes even if the God’s told me to.” She wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. “Their voices though….One of them I recognized, I couldn’t figure out who it was but I know that voice. The other...he had an accent, like he was from the Free Cities. Braavos maybe, or Pentos.” she furrowed her eyebrows in though, still so confused by her inability to identify one of the men. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” Robb said, standing up. Myrcella quickly grabbed his hand and pulled on him. 

“We have to tell someone! My father or yours or my uncle Jamie! Please, Robb, someone wants to hurt your father.” She begged him. Robb sighed and pulled her to her feet. He brushed some of the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. 

“I will tell my father in the morning. Do not mention this to anyone else, okay?” He said and she nodded softly. Robb leaned forward, kissing her forehead softly. 

“Come now, it’s late and you need your rest, Princess.” he said, a grin cracking across his lips, “Besides, you said you would wave to Sansa until the last of her caravan was gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the depths of essays, exams, labs and empty coffee cups* I LIIIIIIIVVEEEEEEE!!!!!  
> lmao so uhhhhh life fucking sucks, class is hell stressful, i'm dealing with fun stuff in therapy and i have negative ten dollars in my bank account. normally this shit means I do anything but write! this time though, I'm throwing myself into my writing, so uhhhh hopefully you'll see more than just this chapter.


	18. Willas III

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

“You’re acting like a child, Willas.” Garlan laughed, shaking his head as he watched his brother run his hand through his curls for the thousandth time that morning. Even if he was excited to meet his betrothed, he was nervous. Sure, they had been trading letters for awhile and seemed to get to know each other but he was so much more eloquent on paper than in person. 

“Loras told you she was a sweet girl with a pretty face and kind words, if that’s how she acted with him, how do you think she’ll act with you?” Garlan asked as he ushered him along. 

“Loras isn’t a cripple.” Willas shot back, a frown forming over his lips. 

“Always the pessimistic one, aren’t you?” Garlan chuckled again as the two of them walked through the halls. 

They had gotten the word earlier that morning that Sansa was supposed to arrive by noon. Willas had spent all morning picking out his clothes and fussing about, he felt more like Margaery than himself as he tore through his wardrobe. He eventually decided on a doubelt the color of pine with dozens of gilded vines growing upon his chest. His trousers were a tawny brown with matching boots covered in gold buckles and latches. He prayed to the old Gods and the new that his bride to be liked him. 

Outside of the Great Hall they all stood. His parents and grandmother, his siblings surrounded by all of the more important people in Highgarden. The sun was straight overhead and a breeze blew through the trees but the serenity of the day couldn’t calm the storm in Willas’ stomach. Eventually, a wheel house and a half dozen horses came trotting up and Willas felt as though he was going to vomit. As soon as the velvet curtains to the wheel house were pulled back and his betrothed climbed out, Willas though his heart was going to burst. 

Sansa slipped out of the wheel house clad in a silk gown the color of an ocean, a deep blue that brought a light into her eyes. Her hair was in soft ringlets, tumbling over her shoulders and back like a river of fire. He couldn’t stop staring at her as she made her way forward and dipped into a low curtsey in front of him and his family. His father stepped forward and smiled, holding his arms wide open. 

“Lady Sansa Stark, Welcome to Highgarden!” 

From there it was a blur, he watched as Sansa was introduced to all of his family, the guards behind her unloading her things and extra supplies brought from the capital. When he finally reached her, her smile was sweet and the way she said his name was even sweeter. He was able to tell her that he was going to escort her to dinner before Margaery and their cousins swooped in and whisked her away, she waved at him and smiled as she was dragged off. Willas was then also pulled away from the chaos to his council meeting.

“Gods, look at your face!” Garlan said, walking by his side as they wandered the halls to his council room, “You’ve talked to her for a minute and you’re already head over heels in love!” Garlan teased, earning himself a punch to the shoulder as Willas’ face deepened in color. 

The rest of his day seemed to be covered in a thick fog, Willas couldn’t keep his mind focused during his council meeting, his work in the aviary, the kennels or the stables or his lessons in the library. All he could think of was Sansa, her voice, her smile, her hair. He met her for a few seconds and he was already ruined by her, already a fool in love. By the time dusk came and dinner was looming by, Willas was just as nervous as he had been in the morning. As he made his way to her room, he felt sweat beading down his back and his heart pounding against his ribs. It took all his strength to knock on her door and when he did, it flew open and there she stood. 

“Good evening, Lord Willas.” She said, stepping out and closing the door behind her. She had made a wardrobe change and now wore a gown of velvet the color of emeralds with a belt of snowflakes around her waist. 

“Good evening, Lady Sansa.” He greeted her, offering her his arm which she graciously took, wrapping her hand around. 

“I hope the travel didn’t wear you down, I know it can be tough to be on the road for so long.” He said, his heart still pounding as they walked together. 

“It was beautiful but I am glad to have a featherbed again.” She giggled which was music to his ears, a smile bursting onto his face. 

“Understandable,” he chuckled, “I hope you find that you like it here in Highgarden.” 

“I think I will, it’s all so beautiful.” Sansa said, smiling as they inched closer to the Great Hall. 

“In the coming days I’ll give you the official tour, it’s better than the one Margaery will give you.” At that they both laughed as the doors to the Great Hall opened and they walked into dinner.   
The meal was overall pleasant, his family was the same as they always were with their joking and teasing, laughter erupting often as the courses came and went. Sansa sat by his side, smiling and laughing yet she was guarding something, unable to truly participate in the banter around her. As the night winded down, he found her often staring off into space, her mind elsewhere. While his family was distracted by a story Garlan was telling, Willas set his hand on her shoulder and spoke in a low voice so only she could hear. 

“Do you wish to retire to your chambers?” He asked and she looked at him and nodded quickly. Willas stood, drawing the attention back to him as he pulled his cain up to lean on. 

“It grows late, I’m going to escort Lady Sansa to her chambers and then retire to my own.” 

As they walked down the hall together, the silence between them was comfortable but Willas knew something was on her mind. As they stopped in front of her door, he pulled both of her hands into his, and her eyes went wide while her cheeks turned crimson.

“I know this isn’t what you expected for your life, Sansa. I know that this isn’t the North and this isn’t your family. I just hope that you can become comfortable enough to share with me your heart and your mind.” He said with his heart in his throat. 

“My Lord, I..” 

“Please, just call me Willas, you and I are to be married. No need for such formalities when we’re alone.” He told her to which she nodded softly, her cheeks still a vibrant red. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. 

“Goodnight Sansa.” 

“Goodnight….Willas.”


	19. Sansa V

While Highgarden didn’t have the stench of King’s Landing, it did smell of roses, the sweet scent lingering everywhere, nearly choking Sansa for the first day or so she occupied it’s walls. Yet she acclimated quickly from the hours she spent standing still while handmaids and seamstresses hovered around her like ravens would over carrion, or wolves around prey. They stuck her with needles often as they layered Myrish silk, lace and chiffon in the colors of smoky skies and hammered steel as they dutifully sewed her wedding dress around her. Lady Olenna had wanted her marriage gown to be the colors of the Tyrells, green and gold but Sansa had confided in her husband to be that she wanted to be married in Stark colors. Willas was relentless in convincing his grandmother to let Sansa have some say in her wedding day. 

The bodice was pure white, with pearls dotted around like stars as they lined the top that settled right above her breasts. Her sleeves were such a light chiffon that they almost seemed to not exist as the flowed freely around her arms. The skirt was layers upon layers of lace, silk, satin and even more chiffon that she seemed to be hidden beneath smoke as each layer was a different hue, some were shining silver, others were slate or ash, iron and lead. Each twist of her hips revealed another color duo. Around her waist was a strip of silk, the top half was as cerulean as the noonday sky, the other was a vibrant red, the color of shimmering garnets. They were her mother’s house colors, she wanted to honor all parts of herself, Stark and Tully before she then shared the name of Tyrell. 

It was midday, the fourth in a row in which Sansa was woken up early, broke her fast with Margaery and her cousins then whisked away for more gown fittings. Five hours she had been standing when a knock came to the door of her room. One of the seamstresses yelled at a serving girl who nearly jumped out of her skin to go and answer the door. Moments later Willas stepped in the room, handsome as ever. He wore riding trousers of a tawny brown color, polished riding boots that rode up to his knee. His doublet was the color of wine with silver buttons of roses down his front. He smiled genuinely at Sansa, bowing his head letting his chestnut curls catch the shining sun, revealing flecks of blonde streaked throughout his ringlets. 

“I have to say my lady, you truly do look stunning.” He grinned at her, leaning on his cane. Her stomach did a small flip as she blushed, a smile slipping over her own lips. 

“Thank you my lord, you look just as handsome.” She admitted, bowing her head in embarrassment, a red curtain falling over her face. 

“You’re too kind, Sansa. Now, I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to have lunch with me out in the gardens.” He offered her, standing up tall despite his crippled leg. She nodded quickly, eager to leave her spot where she stood like a statue, her legs and torso aching from getting stuck with pins all morning. He bowed his head and walked out to let her change from her gown and into another. She chose a light gown, with no sleeves and a wispy skirt, dyed a light purple with a silver gilded belt around her waist. She left her hair down, fiery red ringlets running down her back like lava. She watched Willas’ eyes widen when she stepped from her room, a look of awe on his face as she smiled at him, taking his arm as they walked to the gardens. 

It seemed as if all of Highgarden was made of flowers but after the stone walls of King’s Landing, Sansa found it welcoming. They walked arm in arm down cobblestone paths as Willas pointed out different flowers to her, it seemed as if there were a color she thought of, there was a flower in the gardens to match it. Even though the Reach was known for it’s abundance of roses, within the castle there were dozens and dozens of flowers Sansa didn’t even know existed. There were carnations, irises, dahlias, buttercups and azaleas. Some darker than blood, others brighter than the sun. Yellows, pinks, purples, blues and everything in between surrounded her, bloomed on stems, bushes and trees. The two of them finally came to a stop and settled underneath a weeping willow, it’s long green leaves stretching downward to dance across the grass.

Sansa laid out a blanket as they both sat, surrounded by beauty. Willas opened the basket she had been carrying and began to pull out their meal. Raspberries, blackberries and strawberries were all mixed together in a basket, small finger tarts of brie cheese, cranberries and salmon with buttery, flakey crusts. There were sweet rolls crusted with sesame seeds, individual pies of honeyed duck, parsley and butter, and Sansa nearly cried when Willas pulled out a container of yellow pastries glazed with sugar. 

“A wolf once told me that these were your favorites.” He grinned charmingly, handing her one which she eagerly took and didn’t hesitate to sink her teeth into. Sweet sugar, tart lemon and fluffy cake filled her mouth, lightened her mood and made her feel lovely. 

“Thank you, Willas.” she mumbled, sipping from a crystal glass filled with honey wine. Willas did the same as he bit through a tart. 

“The pleasures is all mine, Sansa.” He grinned at her, a blush creeping up her neck. They sat and ate in silence, a comfortable one for once as they stared at the beauty of the gardens rolling before them. 

“Sansa, tell me, what is your favorite flower?” He inquired as his eyes flickered around bushes and trees at the blooming buds. She looked up, quiet for a few moments in thought before smiling. 

“I feel like roses is the right answer, but I’m quiet fond of tulips.” She admitted, loving the wide array of colors that they buds came in, from fiery red to vibrant yellows, weeping blues and royal purples. 

“I guess I should change the sigil of Tyrell to tulips then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day??? It’s almost as if...I can write more than once every two weeks...what a concept


	20. Robb V

The day after Sansa left, life seemed to go to hell. As soon as his sister’s caravan was out of sight, Robb and Myrcella ambushed his father to tell him all what she had heard while lost in the Keep. Despite how adamant the two of them were, Robb felt as if his father wasn’t taking the warning to heart. A few weeks went by without incident. Robb was training like always, spending the rest of his free time with Myrcella. He had even gotten word that his sister had made it to Highgarden ahead of schedule and was resting easy. 

A few days after Sansa’s letter, Robb was in the courtyard in the Tower of the Hand training when Myrcella came running for him. Her hair was a mess, pale cheeks streaked with tears while her hands clutched a handkerchief. Robb held her in his arms as she sobbed into his chest, eventually calming down enough to tell him the news. Her father had gone out on a hunting trip only to return suddenly after a boar ripped through his side. The King lay on his deathbed and there was nothing the Maester’s could do but ease the pain. 

A few more days had passed, Myrcella rarely leaving his side as she wept on and off. His father was seen little and tensions within the Keep were rising, a sick feeling creeping up Robbs neck as the days passed. One particular afternoon Robb found himself in the Godswood, overlooking the Blackwater as a wind passed through his hair. He had been there all morning and once more, it wasn’t long before Myrcella found him. Unlike the days before, she was dressed in black, the pin of a stag prancing on her chest. They quickly embraced each other but this time she did not sob, she simply pressed her face into his chest and sighed. When they finally broke apart, she spoke. 

“I said goodbye to my father,” She spoke as the two of them wandered over to the weirwood, sitting underneath it’s branches. “He could barely keep his eyes open, barely speak my name.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and her gaze was far off, staring at something not quiet there. “He told me he loved me, that you would treat me good, to not forget him.” A few tears ran down her face and Myrcella went silent, her gaze drifting down to her lap. As they sat there in silence, the bells in the sept began to chime. Myrcella fell to pieces right there after the third or fourth ring of the bells. She fell to her knees off the bench and screamed, sobbing harder than he had ever seen before. Robb too fell to the ground and held her in his arms as grief overtook her. She screamed, sobbed and her body shook as the bells rang on and on, signaling the death of the King. 

The days were a blur even to Robb and he had hardly knew the King. The battle for the Throne was well known. Stannis claimed his stake in the battle as well his brother Renly and Prince Joffrey as well. All of it made Robb feel sick to his stomach. _Who would want to be king?_ He though. Days after the death of the King, court was called and for once Robb went on the wish of his father. 

The Throne Room was packed from wall to wall, with Joffrey seated on the Throne, high above the rest of the court. Robb felt like a fish in a barrel, stuffed among the rest of the people deemed important enough to be present alongside him. The dread he carried in his stomach the days passed had peaked as he stood there, waiting for his father to arrive with the rest of the council. When Ned Stark did entire the room, the walk he made to the throne was long and seemed to be never-ending as his father was supported by Petyr Baelish. 

Five knights of the Kingsguard—all but Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan—were arrayed in a crescent around the base of the throne. They were in full armor, enameled steel from helm to heel, long pale cloaks over their shoulders, shining white shields strapped to their left arms. Cersei Lannister along with Myrcella and Tommen stood behind Ser Boros and Ser Meryn. 

Above them, Prince Joffrey sat amidst the barbs and spikes in a cloth-of-gold doublet and a red satin cape. Sandor Clegane was stationed at the foot of the throne’s steep narrow stair. He wore mail and soot-grey plate and his snarling dog’s-head helm. 

Behind the throne, twenty Lannister guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from their belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms. Yet all along the walls, in front of Robert’s tapestries with their scenes of hunt and battle, the gold-cloaked ranks of the City Watch stood stiffly to attention, each man’s hand clasped around the haft of an eight-foot-long spear tipped in black iron. They outnumbered the Lannisters five to one. Their presence made Robb even more sick to his stomach as anxiety festered over him like a stormcloud. 

As soon as his father was in front of the Throne, Joffrey stood. His red satin cape was patterned in gold thread; fifty roaring lions to one side, fifty prancing stags to the other. “I command the council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation,” the boy proclaimed. “I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.”

The way he delivered his words made Robb want to vomit, something so insidious was laced on the tongue of the Prince. Robb caught Myrcella’s gaze and she too, looked ready to purge herself. 

From his pocket Ned produced a sealed letter and he said ““Lord Varys, be so kind as to show this to my lady of Lannister.”   
The eunuch carried the letter to Cersei. The queen glanced at the words. “Protector of the Realm,” she read. “Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?” She ripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor. 

“Those were the king’s words,” Ser Barristan, one of the members of the council, said in shock. 

“We have a new king now,” Cersei Lannister replied. “Lord Eddard, when last we spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Hand and live out your days in the grey waste you call home.”

Rage filled Robb’s heart and it mixed with the dread inside the pit of his stomach. He wanted to burst through the crowd and yell at the Queen and Joffrey to shut up but he stood in place. 

“Would that I could,” Ned said grimly. “Your son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lord Stannis is Robert’s true heir.” The court fell silent and everything seemed to boil over. 

“ _Liar!_ ” Joffrey screamed, his face reddening. 

“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark,” said Cersei Lannister. “Ser Barristan, seize this traitor.” 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard hesitated. In the blink of an eye he was surrounded by Stark guardsmen, bare steel in their mailed fists. Robb shoved his way through the crowd, about to burst through only to be held back by a Lannister guard. 

“Stop it! Let go of me! Father!” Robb screamed trying to claw his way towards the commotion. 

“And now the treason moves from words to deeds,” Cersei said. “Do you think Ser Barristan stands alone, my lord?” With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Hound drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguard and twenty Lannister guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved to support him. 

“ _Kill him!_ ” the boy king screamed down from the Iron Throne. “ _Kill all of them, I command it!_ ” 

“You leave me no choice,” Ned told Cersei Lannister. He called out to Janos Slynt. “Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.”   
“Men of the Watch!” Janos Slynt shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed. 

“I want no bloodshed,” Ned told the queen. “Tell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need—” With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into Tomard’s back. Fat Tom’s blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wet red point burst out through his ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor. 

Ned’s shout came far too late. Janos Slynt himself slashed open Varly’s throat. Cayn whirled, steel flashing, drove back the nearest spearman with a flurry of blows; for an instant it looked as though he might cut his way free. Then the Hound was on him. Sandor Clegane’s first cut took off Cayn’s sword hand at the wrist; his second drove him to his knees and opened him from shoulder to breastbone.

The Lords and Ladys of the court were screaming, pushing and shoving their way towards the doors to escape the horror. The guard dropped Robb and he was swept along in the crowd, the sounds of steel clashing still echoing in his ears and he heard his name being shouted but it was too late, there was no way he could fight his way back. As soon as he was out of the throne room, he fought his way out of the crowd and ran for the Tower of the Hand, tears in his eyes.


	21. Myrcella IV

The sound of steel clashing, the screams of dying men and the sight of blood being spilled on the floor of the Throne Room filled Myrcella’s mind as her mother led her down the hall quickly, her fingertips burning her skin like hot coals on her back. Myrcella was ushered into a room by her mother who quickly made way for the wine set on the table. Joffrey threw open the door not moment’s later and Myrcella pounced on him. 

“How dare you! What in seven hells were you doing?” Myrcella screamed at her brother, tears of anger and horror blurring her vision. Joffrey smirked at her and soon her mother returned by her side. 

“Calm now, my sweet, you’re brother was just taking his rightful place as King of Westeros.” Her mother said, her hand finding its way on Myrcella’s back again to which Myrcella flinched away. 

“Exactly, I’m now the King and I can do as I please.” Joffrey smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No you can’t! You don’t know the first thing about leading a Kingdom!” Myrcella argued, her hands in fists by her sides, clenched so hard her nails were digging into the skin of her palms. 

“I can lead it however I want,” Joffrey scoffed before a malicious grin slipped across his lips, “I’ll be a better leader than Ned Stark ever was and Robb will ever be.” 

Myrcella saw red and she lunged for her brother only to be held back by Cersei who had dropped her wine goblet on the floor, the red coating the bottom of their dresses and soaking their shoes. 

“I plan on making an example of those Starks. On the morrow, Ned Stark will ask to be sent to the Wall and his son will beg for his life.” Joffrey chuckled and Myrcella spit at him. Joffrey growled and wiped it from his face before rearing back and smacking her. Myrcella fell to the floor in a crumpled heap as her mother moved towards Joffrey. Cersei shouted something that she couldn’t hear, her ears were ringing, her skin burned white hot and blood trickled down from where Joffrey’s ring caught her. 

“I will treat her however I want! I am KING!” Joffrey shouted which earned him a smack across the face from Cersei before she retreated from the room. Her brother then turned his sights on her once more and loomed over her. 

“As those wolves beg for mercy, I will cut their heads off and put them on spikes. This is the power the King has. Do not forget it.” Joffrey said, pure venom in his words. Myrcella struggled to her feet, her legs shaky underneath her. 

“The last King who thought the same ended up with uncle Jamie’s sword in his back. I hope the same happens to you.” 

With that, Myrcella fled down the halls, her heart pounding in her chest as she fled for her room. Once inside, she barred the door down before pushing her dresser in front of it. She flew to her bed and buried herself under the covers. Outside of her window she heard shouts and clashing steel, her brother’s soldiers taking down the ones of her betrothed. She piled pillow on top of pillow over her head and somehow, she found sleep. 

When Myrcella woke the sun had just set below the horizon and there was a moment of peace in her heart before the prior events of the day came rushing back to her. Her stomach curdled and the cut in her cheek burned. She flew from her bed and to her wardrobe which she tore open. At the bottom was a small knapsack which she threw onto her bed as she grabbed the few heavy Northern dresses Sansa had given her. She quickly folded and stuffed them in the bag before she switched dresses. She pulled on a simple long sleeved grey dress with a fur trim at the bottom. Myrcella then pulled on the boots she had worn while in Winterfell and the cloak Robb had given her the day they left the North. Moving to her dresser, she ripped open the top drawer, digging through the clothes to pull out a velvet sack filled with gold. After everything had been stuffed in her knapsack, she slung it over her shoulders and then went to her vanity. There, she scribbled out a note for her uncle Jamie and left it on her bed. She knew he would come looking to talk to her eventually, he always did when horrible things happened. She took one last look around the room before sneaking out of her room and sprinting for the Tower of the Hand. 

When she came upon it, two guards stood watch outside and she quickly lied through her teeth, saying that Joffrey sent her to tell them to head for the barracks and others would come stand watch. Once gone, she slipped into the Tower and headed for Robb’s room. She knocked twice and whispered his name. She heard the sound of scraping wood and a bar being lifted before the door opened. As soon as she stepped in, Robb had her in his arms and for a moment, she was able to relax. 

“Guards came and told me my father was being tried for treason and I needed to speak on his behalf tomorrow.” Robb told her and Myrcella broke away from him, the peace she knew for a few seconds was gone. 

“No, Joffrey intends to kill you both, we need to leave.” Myrcella told her, worry lacing her voice. Robb looked sick to his stomach. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Joffrey told me himself, that’s how I earned this.” She gestured to her cheek and the horror in Robb’s eyes was mixed with rage. He nodded before going and gathering his own things in a knapsack. After all of that, he pulled on his cloak and then moved to his bed. He ushered Grey Wind off of it before lifting up the mattress and pulling out a sword. 

“Where did you get that?” Myrcella asked, her eyes wide. 

“When I escaped the Throne Room I went to my father’s chamber’s first and stole this.” He said, tying it around his waist before adjusting his cloak. 

“Let’s go.” 

With that, the two of them and the direwolf snuck their way out of the Red Keep. When she was younger, Myrcella accidentally found one of the many secret passages that led out into the rest of King’s Landing. She used it to go and play with the common children down in flea bottom who did not know she was a princess, she was able to forget about Joffrey’s torment, her parent’s fighting, the nagging of her Septa. She stopped as soon as Joff found out about it, worried that he would tell their mother but now, it came in handy. 

The two of them had to crawl on their hands and knees through the passage, the stench of the city heavy in the air and the sound of rats scurrying far off. It seemed like centuries later that they finally emerged out into flea bottom, the putrid smell of rot was the worst there as they ran through the empty streets towards the Dragon Gate, the ruins of the Pit were like great, jagged claws in the distance but it led their way. They were almost able to get out of the city without incident. 

As they turned one corner, a man came from an alleyway and grabbed onto Myrcella. 

“Now where do you think you’re goin’ lass?” He slurred, his breath stunk of ale and the rest of him stunk of shit. 

“Let go!” Myrcella fought, pulling hard but he didn’t let go, his grip tight on her. The man just laughed and tried to drag her but it didn’t work out well for him. As he turned away, Robb drew his sword and thrust it through the back of the man who’s grip instantly left Myrcella. Robb pulled back and the man fell to the ground, a pool of blood oozing under him. 

“Come on, we’re almost there.” He said as he grabbed her hand and began running once more. 

It seemed like hours later that they finally were able to reach the Dragon Gate. Four large gold cloaks stood by the gate as the two of them hid in the shadows, Grey Wind by their side. Robb drew out his sword once more and signaled for Myrcella to stay but then a loud call for help came from someone beyond and the four guards went running. Myrcella thanked whatever God’s were looking out for her as the two of them were able to slip out of the Dragon Gate and into the night.


	22. Sansa VI

Highgarden had turned out to be just as perfect as she hoped it had. Even in the chaos of an upcoming wedding, Sansa found herself in love with the world. Margaery had shared with her dresses and hair styles, secrets of the other lords and ladies and even the wisdom she had earned from her grandmother on things like politics. Garlan reminded Sansa of Robb, he was handsome and brave and always so jovial with his siblings. He loved to make Sansa laugh and he came by to play with Lady at least once a day. 

Above all of it was Willas.

From the moment Sansa had stepped foot in Highgarden, Willas was nothing less than perfect. She had once been worried that he wouldn’t be good enough with his crippled leg and every day since she had met him, Sansa felt shame to have even thought anything so horrible about him. 

Willas and her shared at least one meal a day, more often than not it was two and they always took a walk around the garden. He had gifted her books and tutors to teach her anything her heart desired. He had her favorite meals prepared often and sent her notes for the times he couldn’t be with her. Each night when they parted, he kissed the top of her head and smiled before wishing her a goodnight. 

That day Sansa was out in the gardens, sitting by one of the ponds filled with colorful fish. Lady was staring intently as the fish darted through the water, every so often she would snack at one of them with her paw and send all of them scattering. Sansa had a book open in her lap and she eagerly read through it. 

“Good afternoon, Sansa.” She looked up and found Willas standing over her, leaning on his cane with a letter in one hand. “What book are you so heavily obsessed with?” He asked, sitting down on the bench next to her. 

“One about all of the stars and constellations. There’s so many of them and they’re so beautiful.” She admitted, her cheeks turning pink. He smiled softly but it was quickly lost as a melancholy took over his features. She though maybe he had just come from his council meeting which always put him in a dull mood. 

“A letter came for you, from King’s Landing.” He told her. 

“From Myrcella?” She asked. She was waiting for a reply from her friend after she sent her condolences and well wishes after the death of the King. 

“No, my love.” He said before passing the letter over to her. Dread wrapped it’s icy tendrils around her heart as she peeled away the wax and opened up the letter. 

_Sansa,_  
By the time you get this, father will be dead.   
Joffrey killed him even after he begged for mercy   
Do not worry about me or Myrcella, we have escaped.  
Do not leave Highgarden, you are safest there. I will send you another letter as soon as I can. I love you.   
Robb. 

Sansa’s heart burst with horror and she didn’t even realized she has screamed until Lady was by her side whimpering and Willas had his arms around her.

“I got the news not ten minutes before I got that letter.” He told her as tears ran like raindrops down her cheeks. 

“If you wish to go back to Winterfell, I can make arrangements.” Willas said, his voice soft and comforting. Sansa shook her head frantically, her voice hitching as she cried. 

“No…I...I can’t.” She stuttered, her hands shaking as she clutched at her skirts. “Robb said it’s safest here, with you.” Sansa then threw her arms around her betrothed and sobbed. He ran his hand down her back and held her as a million thoughts ran through her mind. 

All she could think of was her father smiling at her as she rode off for Highgarden. He stood there waving until she couldn’t see him anymore. The last thing he had told her was that he would see her at her wedding to walk her down the aisle. Now he was gone from this world. In her mind she could see her father on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, the light having gone from his eyes and above him stood Joffrey, a sick grin on his face as the blood of her father was on his hands. 

“I hate him.” Sansa said, pure malice in her voice as she cried still. “I hate Joffrey.” 

“I know, my love, I know.” Willas said, running a hand through her hair. Sansa wanted nothing more than to go home, even though she knew how much of a horrible idea it was. Her mother would be heartbroken, Rickon would be too young to understand and Arya would show her grief through fury. To make it worse, Robb was on the run with Myrcella. Sansa knew that Cersei would do anything to get her daughter back which made Sansa even more sick to her stomach. 

Willas pulled away and his hand wiped away her tears before kissing her forehead. Sansa’s cheeks tinted pink and she sniffled softly.

“I’m so sorry Sansa, I can not even begin to imagine your pain.” Willas whispered as he held her hands. “Just know that I am always here for you, to share your hardships and grief, you will never be alone.” He told her, kissing the back of each hand. He then stood up and offered her his arm.   
“Where are we going?” she asked as she stood, her wolf following behind eagerly. 

“First, we’re going to get you cleaned up, then I’m going to send for the kitchen to make you some lemon cakes and I’m going to fetch Margy and Garlan and we’re going to have a wonderful afternoon.” He said, a soft smile coming to his lips, before he looked at her with worry “If you’re okay with that.” 

“I think it’s a lovely idea.” 

Sansa was not alone in her grief, Willas, Garlan and Margaery spent the afternoon making her laugh and smile. Garlan was showered with sloppy kisses from Lady and at one point, him and Margaery got into a contest on who could braid her hair better. She ended up with one perfect braid and one sloppy one, Garlan’s was the better of the two. After dinner with them, she was able to escape to the Godswood, just her and Lady. 

She sat under the weirwood with her hands tangled in her direwolf fur as she clenched her eyes shut, imaging home. In her memories she saw her father and mother hand in hand, smiling as her and her siblings had a snowball fight. Her, Arya and Bran sat on one side of the courtyard behind a mound of snow while Robb, Jon and Rickon sat on the other side. Her hands were wet and cold, she couldn’t feel her fingers and her cheeks were red from the wind but still she smiled as she chucked snowballs at her brothers. She could hear Arya yelling curses at Robb and Jon as they laughed, still throwing snowballs. In the middle of the courtyard she saw all of their direwolves wrestling and yelping. The snow began to fall again and Sansa stood back as the battle came to a crescendo, both sides laughing and yelling as they pelted each other with snowballs. How she wish she could go back again. 

“I figured I might find you here.” She opened her eyes and Willas loomed above her, a soft smile on his face. He sat down under the bench of the weirwood and sighed, instinctively rubbing his bad knee. 

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Willas.” she told him, standing and joining him on the bench. He just shook his head, smiling wider. 

“I wanted to be here, Sansa.” He told her before shaking his head and sighing, “Besides, I have more news to share.” Sansa felt dread squeeze her heart again as Willas grabbed her hand. 

“Stannis Baratheon has fled to Dragonstone with his armies, Renly Baratheon heads for Storms End with my father’s soldiers and a betrothal with Margaery and Robb flees with Myrcella for the North. All three have declared war on Joffrey.” He told her, a heavy look in his eyes. Sansa just shook her head, a heavy feeling settling in her belly like lead. Her father's death had ushered in a time of War, one house split into three, all pinning for the Iron Throne and her homeland wanting vengeance for the death of their leader. After Robert’s Rebellion, the Realm was supposed to be whole. It must have just been a hopeful wish. 

“Is there any other news?” Sansa asked, looking up at Willas who sighed once more. 

“Now that the Realm has begun to tear itself to shreds, my grandmother thought it would be wise to move our wedding up. We’ll be married in a fortnight.” Willas said, that news hurting him far more than the rest. 

“Why does that upset you?” Sansa asked, a worried and puzzled look drifting over her face. 

“I just don’t want you to feel so rushed,” He told her, turning to face her and pulling both of her hands into his, “I wanted you to feel safe and welcome here, I wanted you to come to love me.” He told her, some tears welling into his eyes. 

“Now it’s like you’re a prisoner here because your home is now a battlefield you can’t return to.” Willas looked so broken and it hurt Sansa’s heart. A few tears slipped down his face and he quickly wiped them away. “Look at me, crying like a fool.” He chuckled and shook his head. 

“Willas, I do feel safe and welcome here, I’m more welcome here than I ever was in King’s Landing.” She told him, standing to her feet and he rose as well, “Besides, I do love you.” Sansa said, her face burning bright red as her heart pounded against her chest so hard she thought her ribs might crack. 

There was a moment of silence where they both stared at each other, red faced and surprised at the words that had come out of Sansa’s mouth. Then Willas cupped her cheek and leaned forward, so close she could feel the heat of his breath. In a moment of courage, Sansa closed the gap and their lips connected. 

She felt a fire spark in her belly as stars burst behind her eyes. This was it. Her first kiss. Dozens of sleepless hours and daydreamt fantasies couldn’t compare to this moment right now. Her world had been smashed to dust and her heart filled with sorrow but as Sansa stood there, sharing an intimate part of herself with Willas, she felt whole again, as if the world had stopped all together for this moment to happen.


	23. Robb VI

Robb had never seen this much of the world before even when he was coming to King’s Landing. As soon as him and Myrcella had escaped from the city, they stole a horse and were on their way. They rode nonstop, through the day and night with one of them sleeping while the other rode, keeping a watch on whatever was ahead. They tried their hardest to stay away from the main parts of the road, opting to go through the parts of the forest that were clear enough for them to trek through on horseback. They would stop to stretch, to drink and eat but it wasn’t for long. The fear of gold cloaks spotting them was always looming over their heads like menacing storm clouds. 

Robb had decided instead of heading straight for the North, their destination was that of Riverrun. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother’s family would raise their banners for him, give him support as well as guards for an escort back to the North. The night they escaped, Robb had sent letters off to his sister in Highgarden, his mother in Winterfell, his brother Jon and uncle Benjen at the Wall and to his uncle Edmure Tully in Riverrun. They told of his father’s death at the hands of the Boy King, his escape from King’s Landing and his plans to raise an army. He told everyone but his sister that he was headed for Riverrun. Yet for now, they stopped at the Crossroads Inn. 

Both of them struggled as they dismounted from their stead after days of non stop riding, their legs ached and their backs burned. Robb told Grey Wind to hide out nearby and that he would come for him in the morning. A direwolf trekking behind their heels was a dead giveaway for who the both of them are. 

Inside they found it to be filled with the sounds of laughter, the smell of roasted chicken and the sights of the local folk. Lucky for them no goldcloak’s occupied the Inn. As Robb paid for a room and a meal for the two of them, he realized Myrcella was eagerly watching the commotion. A bard sang and strummed upon harp while a few barmaids and local men danced and laughed. As they both took a seat in a back corner, Myrcella’s eyes were still filled with wonder and Robb realized she had never seen something like this. She had been locked in a castle and entertained with gossip and needlework. The scene in front of him reminded him of home. Nightly feasts were a common thing in Winterfell and this just made him homesick. 

“They’re so happy.” Myrcella said, a sad smile fleeting across her lips. “They don’t care about what lady said what or who’s getting married to who. They’re just so…simple.”

“The common folk care only about a good harvest and a long summer.” Robb said, shaking his head. 

“They don’t care about the game of thrones, as long as they’re left out of it.” Myrcella shook her head a sad look on her face before it melted away to be replaced by a smile. “At least we get the comforts of a bed tonight.” 

“That we do, my love, that we do.” 

A barmaid came over and placed a plate in front of each of them filled with chicken, potatoes and rolls along with two jugs of honeyed wine. Myrcella thanked her and flashed a smile before eagerly digging into her food. They both ate in relative silence, both of them tired and worn down from the traveling and Robb’s mind was a million miles away, his thoughts occupied by his family. It wasn’t long before both of their plates were empty and neither of them could stop yawning. 

Robb took Myrcella by the hand and led her up the stairs to their room for the night. It was simple a bed along with a nightstand and a vanity were all that occupied the room. Once inside, they both kicked off their boots and threw down their knapsacks before locking the door. Robb headed straight for the bed and Myrcella headed for the vanity. Robb stretched out his back and rubbed the knots out of his thighs before laying across the bed to stretch even more. It was silent for awhile and Robb was about to doze off when Myrcella spoke up. 

“I want to cut it.” She said with determination. Robb sat up and looked over at her, rubbing one of his eyes. 

“Cut what?” 

“My hair.” 

“Why?” He asked, standing up and wandering over to her. She had a fistful of her hair in her hand and a hard look on her face. 

“I don’t want people to regonzie me.” She said, turning around to face him, “If a gold cloak walks in, he’ll be able to realize it’s me faster than you.” She told him before standing up. 

“If I cut my hair, it’ll be harder for him to notice me.” Myrcella rationed before a look of sadness and hope came to her face. “I’m also not the same person I was when we were in King’s Landing, I want my hair to reflect that.”

Robb simply nodded and went to his bag. He rummaged through it before pulling out a dagger which he had stolen off of a dead man they came across along the way. He wouldn’t miss it. 

“Alright, I’m gonna braid your hair then cut it off, how short do you want it?” He asked as she sat back down at the vanity. She pointed to a spot just above her breast. He nodded before going to work. He understood her trepidation about being recognized. When they left King’s Landing, he had grown some stubble but now, he was sporting almost a full grown beard. 

As Robb began braiding Myrcella’s hair, he couldn’t help but remember all those time’s he had done Sansa’s hair when they were growing up. She used to cry and scream when Septa Mordane or Old Nan tried to brush and style her hair. Sansa said they were too rough and it hurt her. Sometimes she wouldn’t even let their mother touch it, only Robb was allowed to wrangle her curls. Sansa always told him he was softer, a more gentle touch than the others. He got very good at braiding hair in all different ways. He even taught Jon how to do it so he could tame Arya’s hair into something acceptable. How simple it all was back then. 

When Robb finished braiding her hair, he realized just how long it was. The end of the braid hit just in the middle of the small of her back, her sunshine curls all bundled up. As he held a handful of her hair, he couldn’t help but admire it. It was soft to the touch, shining like gold coins in the candle light. Dozens of shades of blonde were sprinkled throughout, some as bright as the rays of the sun and others a darker, brassier color. Robb then reached over to the vanity and grabbed the knife. 

“Are you ready?” He asked and she nodded softly, a look of confidence on Myrcella’s face. Robb took in a deep breath and set the knife at the point in between her shoulder blades and began to cut her hair. It was thick and plentiful so it took some hard strokes to cut through it but when it was done, Myrcella’s hair fell over her shoulders and the rest of it fell to the floor with a soft thump. She ran her hands through it before turning around and smiling at him. 

“Do you like it?” She asked and Robb grinned, his heart pounding against his chest. By the gods, he thought, how can she look so beautiful with any hair style or dress?

“I think it looks gorgeous on you, Myrcella.” He told her, setting the dagger aside. Myrcella jumped to her feet and pulled him into a kiss which he didn’t hesitate to sink into. His hand’s found her hips as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. When they broke apart, they were breathless and red faced. 

“Gods, what did I do to deserve you?” Robb asked, resting his forehead against hers. Myrcella just chuckled and grinned. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Myrcella said before yawning. Robb laughed before breaking apart. 

“Come now, my love, I think it’s time for both of us to sleep.” He dragged her away from the vanity as she yawned loudly, “Besides, who knows the next time we’ll have the comforts of a real featherbed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *me writing this fic* sometimes...fics that are planned....are worse...


	24. Arya IV

The early morning air was crisp and cool against Arya’s burning cheeks. Her breaths came in hard, short rasps as sweat slid down her forehead and down the curve of her back. Nymeria sat nearby, her golden eyes shining in the early dawn light like coins. There was a tension looming over Winterfell and it had come down hard upon Arya. 

Once her mother left, she was truly seen as in charge of the North and once that had excited her but now it annoyed her more than anything. Day after day she dressed up in her best, braided her hair and headed to council. She would sit where her father would and listen to the complaints of the commoners, Maester Luwin to her left, Bran and Rickon by her right. For hours people would come upon her and ask for things from her, day in and day out. She would offer more food, more soldiers, more steel but they always wanted more. She graciously obliged their wishes with a nice smile and kind words, knowing that the strength she carried in herself was transferred to her people but she always heard her father’s voice in the back of her mind, nagging her over and over. 

Winter Is Coming. 

Recently, people had been asking for a true leader, not a child and it was trying Arya’s temper more than she would let on. She was more than enough to lead her people, she had spent hours listening in on her father do the same thing and had picked up many tips, tricks and ways to lead her people. 

She had taken those frustrations out on the trees in the godswood, maring their trunks with thin slashes from her sword which she had gotten pretty adept at using. She had been going at it all night after a particularly sour day of council. As soon as the sun had set and her brothers were asleep, she was in the godswood. Her pants were soaked up to the knees, her legs had gone numb while her hands had begun to callous. The sun was beginning to rise and Arya knew she needed to pack up but she kept going. 

“How long have you been doing that?” Arya felt her heart sink into her stomach as she whipped around to spot Hodor and Bran bundled up in furs, braced against the cold. Bran pointed to the bench nearby and Hodor waddled over before sliding him down onto it. 

“Long enough to be good.” Arya said, defensive towards her brother as she clenched tight onto the hilt of Needle. 

“Jon gave it to you, didn’t he?” Bran asked, a grin slipping onto his lips. When Arya didn’t answer, Bran shook his head, “Jon was always your favorite.” 

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” Arya asked, worry seeping into her voice in a childish way, as if her younger brother was going to go running to their mother to tattle on her. 

“Knowing how to sword fight will come in handy.” Bran said before sighing.

“How’d you find me here?” Arya asked, finally realizing just how late, or early, it truly was as the sky was painted a soft blue splashed with heavy clouds the color of steel. 

“I went to your chambers and when I didn’t find you there...I figured you’d be here, just like father always was.” Bran said, the grin slipping from his face. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a letter, the wax seal on it already broken. “A raven came...from King’s Landing.” Bran said, turning the letter over in his hands a few times. 

“From father?” Arya asked, finally sheathing Needle at her hip. 

“No, from Robb.” Bran said, looking down at the letter, a hesitant look on his face which only made a pit of dread erupt in Arya’s stomach. “Here...you should read it for yourself.” Bran said, handing over the letter. In shaking hands, Arya pulled the letter open and began to read. 

_Father is dead._  
_Joffrey killed him even after he begged for mercy. ___  
_Sansa is safe in Highgarden._  
_Myrcella and I have escaped. We’re headed to Riverrun to raise banners and_  
_For an escort back to the North._  
_I’ll write as soon as I get there._  
_Do not worry about me._  
_Robb._

____

____

The world seemed come crashing down around Arya. Her legs collapsed under her and she couldn’t breath, it was as if dread was squeezing its hands around her throat, choking her. Tears came to her eyes and ran down her cheeks like rivers carving through mountains. Arya didn’t believe it, her father had been killed in the South at the hands of a boy playing King. The death of King Robert had only reached them a few days prior and now this came on it’s heels. She thought she must be dreaming but the licks of her direwolf’s tongue on her cheek told her it was all too real. 

A darkness was consuming her and she couldn’t escape, it was as if someone had carved her heart out of her chest and fed it to the lions. The world was spinning around her and she had to bury her hands in the snow to get some sort of feeling back to her. She was numb and she thought she might vomit until she heard the sounds of soft sobbing that wasn’t coming from her own throat. 

She looked up at Bran and saw that he too was crying and suddenly, she remembered how young they all were. She was only 11, Bran only 9 and now the weight of the North was on their shoulders. She crawled up to bench and wrapped her arms around her brother and they sat there, sobbing. It had been weeks since they’d seen their mother, months since they’d seen their father and now one of them wasn’t coming home. Arya’s family had been split up by the Lannister’s and she was left in the North to rot, to freeze, to die. 

By the time Arya and Bran broke apart, the sun was well into the sky, shining through clouds as a cold wind blew by. Arya finally found the strength to get up and when she did, grief still found itself heavy in her soul, it weighing down every fiber of her being but vengeance lifted her up, kept her heart beating and moved her feet. 

“Where are you going?” asked Bran, a childlike worry in his voice. 

“To call our bannermen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a double upload? It's only because my friend @fields_of_falafel is chillin with me and we somehow inspire each other to write. Also, go read their fic! It's a sansa/margaery fic and its good! do it!


	25. Myrcella V

The morning sun was cresting over the horizon, burning furiously and turning the sky a soft blue, the underbelly of the clouds hanging heavy above them were the color of steel tinged with purple. Myrcella had been awake not an hour when Riverrun came in to view. She felt Robb tense up behind her as the castle rose against the sky. The great city sat in the middle of the water, the drawbridge extended out on its supports as caravans trotted into the castle. The walls were made of white stone, some of the sides were wrapped with ivy that reached up from the water like fingers clutching to the structure. The towers of the castle shot up into the early morning sky like crossbow bolts, their blue spires puncturing the air. The blue and red flags of House Tully flapped in the early morning wind. As they began to cross the drawbridge, Myrcella piped up. 

“When we get inside, where will we go?” She asked Robb, curious of how they would get to his uncle and grandfather. 

“While we were at Crossroads, I sent another letter to my uncle telling him we’d be there in less of a fortnight and to have someone waiting for us at the gate.” Robb told her, the sounds of the water crashing against the stone walls and bridge supports nearly drowning out his voice. 

Robb was right, as soon as they passed through the gates and dismounted, guards bowed at their feet before whisking them away into the Keep. Once inside, they were marched through halls and upstairs until they reached a council room in one of the towers where one of the guards told them he would go and fetch Edmure Tully before running off. Robb eagerly took a seat in one of the plush chairs at the table as Myrcella wandered over to one of the windows. From there, she could see part of the keep and the rivers as they stretched for miles beyond her sight, the sun bouncing its rays off the clear waters. 

“I never thought I’d ever be in Riverrun.” Myrcella said, drinking in the world around her. “It’s a pleasure to see something so beautiful, even if it is under such awful circumstances.” Myrcella turned back to Robb to see that he had already found some parchment and was eagerly writing a letter. Myrcella shook her head and returned her gaze out of the window, hoping to find some solace in the flowing river below her. Her eyes were getting heavy and they had just begun to slip shut when the door flew open. Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun came through the threshold. He had long auburn hair that pooled at the scruff of his neck, a thick beard of the same red hair and those blue eyes, the signature Tully look. Robb shot to his feet and smiled at his uncle before embracing him. 

“Robb, by the god’s you’ve grown.” Edmure said, pulling back to admire him. “Last time I saw you, you were knee high, could barely swing a sword.” He chuckled, a pleasant look upon his features. 

“Last time I saw you, you had less grey hairs, Uncle.” Robb laughed to which his uncle smacked him on the shoulder in a jovial manner. Edmure then looked passed Robb and set his eyes on Myrcella who he began moving towards. 

“This must be Myrcella,” Edmure said, looking back to Robb, “When you said you escaped with the Princess I thought you were mad.” 

“Myrcella is the one who warned me what Joffrey planned to do. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be dead too.” Robb said, a serious tone carving its way into his voice. 

“Well, I guess we all owe you our debt then, Princess.” Edmure said, turning to her and smiling. Myrcella dipped into a low curtsey, her cheeks turning red hot. 

“Please, Lord Tully, I was only doing what was right.” Myrcella said before standing straight up. Edmure nodded thoughtfully before heading for the table where he grabbed a glass to fill with wine. 

“I’ve arranged a room for the night for you two, on the morrow you’ll be heading North with ten of my bannermen.” Edmure said, taking a sip of wine before setting his sights on Robb once more. “For now, you and I need to talk.” 

Myrcella was then whisked away by two guards who then traded her off to a pair of hand maids took no time in drawing a bath for her. For three hours, they dutifully pampered her and for once, Myrcella welcomed it. In King’s Landing she got sick of the daily rituals of hour long preparations but after almost three weeks on horseback through the wilderness she was more than compliant. 

They stripped her of her dirty clothes and dunked her into the steaming water. They lathered her in scents of pine, lavender and honey as they scrapped the dirt and dust from her pores. They untangled the knots and dirt from her hair which would have been worse had she not cut most of it off. After that they pulled her out and covered her in lotion while they also brushed out her hair until it shone like liquid gold. They then doused her in perfume before wrapping her in a dress of green and putting two braids in her hair that joined in the back as one. After that they led her to a room and simply left her to her own devices. 

The first thing Myrcella did was stretch out on the featherbed, rolling around on the soft blankets, the world obstructed by blue and red velvet curtains. She had only meant to simply stretch out her aching muscles but by the time she opened her eyes, a dull orange glow was filtering in from the window. Myrcella rolled over onto her side and was met with a large, warm object also occupying the bed. Rubbing her eyes and sitting up, she found Grey Wind at her side who looked up at her before letting out a sigh as he returned back to sleep. Pulling back one of the bedside curtains, Myrcella stood and crossed the room to find Robb sitting at the table, a stack of letters by his side as he still wrote feverently. Along with his stack of letters, their supper sat on the table, still fresh and steaming. 

Myrcella wandered over to him, set her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. He relaxed under her touch and set down his quill as she moved to the other chair. She picked up a goblet filled with sweet wine and plucked a roll from the lot of them, all of them shaped like trout and covered in poppy seeds. 

“How long have you been writing?” She asked, tearing chunks off of the roll. Robb sighed, sat up straight and reached for his own goblet. 

“An hour...maybe two.” He said, taking a long sip of his wine, “I’ve had to start over a few times.” Robb shook his head before setting his letters to the side and grabbing a handful of grapes that were pilled with a plate of cheese and sliced meats. 

“Who’s going to receive the letters?” 

“Jon and Uncle Benjen at the Wall, Arya in Winterfell, and Sansa in Highgarden.” He told her, leaning back in his chair. 

“What did your Uncle Edmure have to say?” Myrcella inquired as she finished her roll before going to dig into one of the finger tarts filled with salmon, brie and cranberries. Robb went silent and when she looked up at him, his face hard almost seemed to turn to stone. A nagging fear prickled up Myrcella’s neck and unsettled her belly as Robb took in a deep breath before answering her question. 

“Before the deaths of both of our fathers, Jaime Lannister had been gathering forces in Casterly Rock and Gregor Clegane was raiding the riverlands. My father sent in Lord Beric Dondarrion to take care of the Mountain but there has been no word this far.” Robb said, clutching his hands together worriedly. Myrcella felt her stomach churn and she set down her goblet of sweet wine. 

“Joffrey has asked my Uncle Edmure to appear in court and swear his allegiance but I know my uncle will do no such thing.” Robb laid his hands flat on the table before looking at her dead in the eyes, “We’re worried that Ser Jaime will lead a siege against Riverrun if Edmure says no or even if he says yes.” 

Myrcella knew that once she escaped King’s Landing with Robb, the realm would suffer but by the gods, she hadn’t considered this. She was always close to her Uncle Jaime and the thought of him in battle against Robb’s uncle made her feel sick. Tears were prickling their way into her eyes but she blinked them back before smiling softly. 

“Come now, my love, it grows late and you look so tired.” Myrcella stood and wandered over to Robb where she grabbed his hand, pulling him from his chair. Robb eagerly followed her to bed where they both collapsed against the mattress, Grey Wind huffing and refusing to move while the two of them struggled to get under the covers. They both instantly sought the warmth of each other, tangling their limbs together as Myrcella rested her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before they fell asleep. 

The mattress shaking beneath her is what woke her up. At first, Myrcella just assumed it was Grey Wind moving but then she heard whimpering. Leaning up on her elbows, she saw Grey Wind laying at her feet and Robb was facing away from her, his body convulsing with sobs. Myrcella then crawled to her knees and set a hand on Robb’s shoulder, shaking him softly. It did nothing to wake him from his nightmare. 

“No….stop...don’t touch her.” He cried out, his face scrunched together in a scowl as tear tracks raced down his cheeks. Myrcella frowned and shook him harder, whispering his name in an attempt to wake him but he simply rolled onto his back. At that point, Grey Wind looked up at her, golden eyes glistening in the dark. Myrcella shook Robb as hard as she could, calling his name louder. 

Robb went eerily still, as stiff as a board before he cried, “No! Father!” Myrcella jumped back and Robb shot up into a sitting position, fully awake. He then looked over to her and began to sob. It broke her heart in two as she watched him bury his face into his hands and sob. Myrcella instinctively wrapped her arms around him, running her hand up and down her back. She had been woken up many times in her youth by Tommen crawling into her bed, crying and refusing to sleep by himself. Robb wrapped his arms around her waist and cried into her shoulder for awhile until there was nothing left for him to cry out. At that point, he pulled back and she reached out, setting her hands on both of his cheeks. 

“Robb,” she said his name, soft and gently like a song, “what happened?” Robb looked up at her, his blue eyes having darkened to a dreadful grey. 

“When we were escaping King’s Landing…” he spoke softly, his eyes clenching shut as he struggled to keep the tears at bay, “That man grabbed you, he was trying to hurt you...and I killed him…” he explained, biting his bottom lip in hesitation, “but when...I pulled my sword out, he turned around and it was my father…” He shook his head as the tears began again, “my father, I killed him, I killed my father.” He sobbed, completely crumbling again. Myrcella shushed him, wrapping her arms around him once more. She was able to lay them both down, Robb’s arms snaked around her waist and his head buried in her shoulder once more. 

“It’s okay Robb, you’re safe here.” she told him, running her hands through his auburn curls, “You didn’t kill your father just like I didn’t kill mine.” she said, a sharp pain stabbing through her heart at the thought of her own dead patriarch. “Joffrey killed your father and for that, he will rot.” she said, a malace seeping its way into her voice, a vengeance burning in her soul. 

“I love you, Myrcella.” Robb whispered against her neck. Myrcella felt a blush creep up her neck, chest and onto her cheeks. 

“I love you too, Robb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on such a good streak y'all and I just can't stop writing! Let's hope it continues for awhile. 
> 
> also...the reason why Arya is "in charge" of Winterfell and not Bran is because in this fic I have it so birth order takes places over gender. 
> 
> anyway I hope you enjoy!


	26. Willas IV

Garlan woke him up in the early dawn the day of his wedding. His brother had a grin on his face the entire time but Willas had a stomach filled with lead. While the few weeks he had spent getting to know his bride were lovely, she carried a grief heavy on her shoulders and had receded away from him. He often found her staring off into space, a sad look in her deep blue eyes. He worried the festivities of the day and night might harm Sansa more than do her any good. 

Willas stood in front of his mirror in his wedding attire. A bright green doublet had dozens of roses blooming over his chest with gilded rose buttons lined down his front with trousers the color of a soft brown with boots the same color, accented with golden buckles. Garlan patted his brother shoulder and grinned. 

“Come now, Willas, try to not look so grim,” Garlan said as Willas leaned against his cane, “You’re acting as if you’re matching towards your funeral.” 

“Her father’s been dead a little over a fortnight, her brother is raising an army and the Boy-King declares all of her family traitors. Now, she’s getting married.” Willas shook his head, guilt hanging heavy in his heart. 

“She’ll come around, Willas, she’s still head over heels for you.” Garlan tried to assure him but Willas was having no part in it. 

“Who told you that? Margaery or Grandmother?’ Willas rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with cynicism. 

“No, Sansa told me herself.” Garlan replied and Willas looked at him, eyes wide in surprise. 

“What? When?” He questioned his brother, raising an eyebrow in wonder.

“Last night, I went to go tell her I was going to be walking her down the aisle but she wasn't in her chambers.” Garlan moved over to the table, grabbing a glass of sweet wine and taking a sip. 

“I found her in the godswood with Lady at her feet. She was praying underneath the weirwood.” He sat down in one of the chairs and Willas joined him, instinctively rubbing his knee as he sat. 

“She told me she felt so guilty, that you had been nothing but nice to her and she repaid you with a cold shoulder.” Garlan shook his head and sighed, running one of his fingers around the rim of his cup. 

“I told her that a lot had happened to her in the past weeks, that it was normal to feel like that. She told me she wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t like her anymore.” Garlan chuckled and shook his head, smiling sadly. Silence hung between them for what seemed like centuries before Garlan spoke up again. 

“She needs you, Willas, she’s scared and alone and she needs someone to comfort her.” Garlan told him and Willas nodded, guilt crawling up his throat as he fought back tears. Sansa was a sweet girl who had begun to share her heart with him only to have been struck by tragedy. Willas though himself stupid to think that she had begun to hate him when she was only just scared. 

“I can do that. I have to...for the sake of both of us.” Willas said, looking up at Garlan who set his cup down before standing, a smile on his face. 

“Come now, it’s time for you to get hitched.” 

Sansa was truly stunning on Garlan’s arm as she walked towards the altar in the Sept. Her dress gave the illusion she was floating on smoke, her hair was a river made of copper, fire, amber and gold down her back. The maiden cloak clasped at her throat was heavy, dark steel trimmed with white fur as a howling direwolf protected her back, its entirety made of shimmering pearls with one gigantic ruby as it’s glittering, watchful eye. When she made it to the spot where he stood, they exchanged soft smiles. Their vows were exchanged in unison before Willas replaced her cloak with one of silk, the color of basil with golden vines and gilded roses. Their kiss was soft, sweet and they both lingered for a moment too long because when they broke apart, the crowd was already cheering for them. 

Hours later during the feast, she sat dutifully by his side through the courses, the songs, the gifts. They made pleasant conversation and she smiled nonstop but Willas could still see a sadness in her eyes, a weight on her shoulders. He knew this wasn't the wedding she had hoped for. He knew she wanted the halls to be equally filled with Northerner’s, the loud laughter of her family intermixed with that of his own. There was a lack of red Tully hair and long Stark faces. Even for Willas there was disappointment on the family front. It was eerily noticeable that Margaery and Loras were missing, their intricate outfits, their shining smiles and their contagious laughs were nowhere to be found. 

As it began to wind down, Willas called upon Garlan, whispered in his ear and moments later he watched as Sansa was twirled across the dance floor. With each twist, her dress gave off another brilliant color combination that moved from shining silver, to bright white to darkened steel. She threw her head back to laugh as Garlan caught her in his arms while a jealousy burned in Willas’ chest, knowing he would never be able to do that with his wife. He cursed Oberyn Martell more in that moment than he had when the Dornishman actually crippled him. 

Sansa was passed around on the dance floor, spinning and twirling with Garlan, a few of his cousins like Alla and Elinor before dancing with his mother Alerie and his father Mace. She took her last dance with Garlan again, a slow one and as she faced Willas, she smiled over his brothers shoulder and mouthed him a thank you. Willas face turned red and he smiled at her, lifting up his mug in acknowledgment. 

It wasn't long after that the bedding ceremony began. His cousins made quick work of his clothes, throwing his doublet into the crowd before forcing him into his wheelchair so they could also toss his boots and trousers into the abyss. They left him in nothing but his small clothes with a blush on his face as they wheeled them to his room laughing and cheering as they marched down the halls. They threw open his door, pushed him in before slamming the door behind him. Their laughter faded as he let out a sigh of relief, rising from his chair. Then he spotted Sansa on the other side of his bed with a robe clutched to her chest. Her hair and eyes were wild, a fear on her face as if she was a pup caught in a trap. 

Willas sighed as he crossed over to his dresser where he pulled out two heavy wool robes. He pulled on his own, tying it at his waist before wandering over to Sansa. He draped the heavy fabric over her shoulders and she handed him the silk one in her hands as she then quickly pulled the new robe over her. 

“Those silk ones are pretty, but they’re horrible at keeping you warm.” Willas chuckled, smiling and Sansa replicated her own grin. He then set a hand on her shoulder and guided her to his vanity where she sat down at the bench and he quickly went to work unbraiding her hair. He had spent years helping Margaery tame her chestnut curls into something acceptable so he was more than skilled at unraveling the large braid Sansa hair, pulling out pins and elastic bands while he softly combed through the thick curls. As he worked, Willas gathered all of his strength to finally tell Sansa what he needed to. 

“Listen, my love,” he started off gently, “I know you have an expectation of what will happen tonight.” He put it gently as he worked through a particularly tough knot. 

“I’m well aware of what happens on a wedding night,” Sansa said, looking down at her lap as she fiddled with her fingers, “I will perform my womanly duty of being bedded by you.” 

Willas sighed as he set down the hair brush before putting his hand on her shoulder, “Sansa, look at me.” He said softly and she turned around, a fear in her river blue eyes. Willas put his hand under her chin to make sure she looked up at him. 

“So much as happened to you since you’ve come to Highgarden and I do not want to make anything more painful for you.” He said, a serious tone to his words, “If you do not want to go through with bedding tonight, we won’t do it.” 

“Really?” Sansa said, tears coming to her eyes. 

“Really. We won’t do anything until you are ready. ” He said, smiling softly, “You are my wife, Sansa and I will spend the rest of my days protecting you which includes this.” 

Sansa flew to her feet and threw her arms around Willas, burying her face into his chest. He smiled softly as he wrapped his own arms around her. 

“Thank you, Willas.” she muttered against him to which he chuckled as he ran one hand through her hair. 

“Of course.” He said as she pulled back, “It’s time for us to sleep, we’ve both had long days.” With that, the two of them broke apart before Willas went to go blow out the candles and Sansa crawled in under the blankets. He heard the featherbed squeak under her as she got comfy. He finally made his way to bed, sitting on the edge of it as he undid his knee brace with a sigh of relief. He instinctively rubbed at his swollen knee before throwing back the covers and crawling underneath. There was a silence between them before the sounds of squeaking filled the room and then Sansa’s arm was draped over his chest and her head was resting against his shoulder. Willas felt a hot blush burn onto his cheeks as Sansa sighed happily. 

“Goodnight Sansa.” 

“Goodnight, my love.”


	27. Robb VII

It took them 3 weeks to make it from Riverrun to Winterfell. Ten soldiers in crimson and cerulean surrounded them as they marched up the Kingsroad, the Tully banners snapping in the wind. The moment they passed by the Twins and were officially in the North, Robb felt a change happen inside his heart. It seemed as if it had been centuries since he had stepped back in his homeland when in reality it hadn’t even been a full year. 

Myrcella had been shivering from the moment they passed through the Neck, a chill having settled in the air as they inched closer to Winterfell. Robb gave up his cloak to her willingly, welcoming the wind as it blew against him. The cold made him feel alive once more. 

It was an early dawn when they finally rode upon Winterfell, the sky was a soft pewter, the clouds almost like black balls of wool against it. The dark stone grey walls of the castle rose on the horizon and the sight of it was welcoming. Robb had a strange feeling mulling in his chest. Delight and anxiety battled for dominance as the great northern city grew closer. As the Southern gates came into view, a soft snow began to fall from the clouds, gentle flakes that melted upon impact with his skin, his clothes, his hair. 

The moment he rode through the gates and into the courtyard, Robb thought his heart might burst in his chest. Waiting for him there was his mother clad in a gown of heavy black wool with a cloak of grey over her shoulders. Next to her was Arya, a smirk on her face. His little sister seemed to have gotten taller, thinner, older since he had left. Next to her was Bran, huddled in a chair with furs surrounding him and finally there was Rickon, grinning from ear to ear as he held onto Bran’s hand. All of his siblings direwolves stood next to them dutifully, each of them just like their master. 

Yet what was behind his family is what surprised him the most. In rows upon rows were the lords of the houses which made up his bannermen. Lord Bolton and Karstark, Cerwyn and Umber. Manderly, Poole, Mormont, Westerling and every house in between had at least one man representing them. All of his bannermen had been called and were here waiting for him. 

Robb climbed down from his horse, helping Myrcella down as well before nearly running for his mother who he quickly embraced. Catelyn didn’t hesitate to cling to him and for a moment in time, Robb felt as if everything would be fine as he stood in the arms of his mother. 

“When I heard the news...I thought…” Catelyn whispered before pulling back to look at him, a fleeting smile on her face while tears began to stream down her cheeks, “I’ve never been happier to see you, Robb.” 

“I feel the same way, mother.” Robb told her, kissing her forehead before moving down the line. Robb held his arms wide open and Arya jumped into them, wrapping her arms around his neck. After a moment or two, he set her down and she grinned at him. 

“Did you stay out of trouble?” Robb asked, a grin settling on his own face. 

“Define trouble.” 

Robb shook his head and moved on to Bran. Robb knelt in the snow to hug his younger brother who hugged him the hardest out of everyone. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't here when you woke up.” Robb told his brother who just squeezed harder. 

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.” Bran whispered against him. Robb pulled back and rustled Bran’s hair before he scooped Rickon into his arms. His youngest sibling squealed in delight as Robb spun around thrice with him in his grasp. When he steadied himself, he handed his youngest brother over to his mother before looking back at Myrcella. She was bundled up in his cloak, her form still shivering underneath the furs. She connected eyes with him before quickly dipping into a curtsey. 

“Thank you for allowing me into your home despite all the pain my own family has caused you.” Myrcella said, her head bowed in shame. Catelyn set down Rickon and crossed over to her, a serious look in her deep Tully blue eyes. Catelyn quickly pulled Myrcella into a hug as tears flowed freely down her face once more. 

“If it were not for you, my son would also be dead.” Catelyn said, her voice soft and filled with pain, “I owe you a great debt, Princess.” 

Robb once more grabbed Rickon into his arms before smiling at his family. 

“Come now, it’s still early and I’m sure none of you have eaten yet.” 

After breaking their fast together, his family went off for their duties and Robb was left to be Lord of Winterfell. He spent the rest of his day with the leaders of his bannermen, talking strategies and plans for how they were going to respond to the murder of their leader as well as the growing war. In the time it took for Robb to finally reach his home, Stannis Baratheon had raised an army at Dragonstone while Renly had married the only Tyrell daughter, Margaery. The thought of the Tyrell’s sent Robb’s heart into a frenzy. He knew that Sansa husband Willas was a reasonable, level headed and intelligent man but he wasn't the one ruling the Reach. 

The marriage of Stag to Rose served many purposes, none of which delighted Robb. The Boy King Joffrey had raised his grandfather's armies and was beginning wreak havoc in the Riverlands and Tywin Lannister had control of Harrenhal. Among all of that, rumors had whispered that Balon Greyjoy was growing restless and wanted his own taste of the bloodshed. 

By the time his counsel had shared all of their information, begun to draft letters and plan strategies for the coming battles the sun had set well below the horizon and Robb was sporting a pounding headache. When he finally called it a night, they had a loose estimate of their numbers, rough drafts of letters for each of the other proclaimed Kings and the beginnings of a war plan. The Great Keep was silent as he walked through the halls towards his room. Being inside the walls of Winterfell again caused a strange sadness to fester in Robb’s heart with a particularly painful stab of grief shooting through his chest came when he walked passed his mother and father’s chambers. 

He found Myrcella in front of the hearth where a dying fire danced inside. She was curled up in a chair and covered with furs, Greywind sat at her feet, eyes glowing in the light of the flames. His wolf lifted his head up as he approached and Myrcella turned to him, smiling softly at him with tired eyes. 

“I was wondering when you’d return.” Myrcella told him in a sleepy voice, her eyes slipping shut as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

“You didn’t have to wait up for me.” Robb told her but she just shook her head, smiling still. 

“I wanted to wait up for you.” Myrcella said. Robb circled the chair she was in, scooped her up in his arms, furs and all, before settling himself in the chair with her on his lab. She giggled as he did so, burying her face into his neck. 

“I hope your day was better than mine.” Robb told her, running a hand through her golden locks, the strands glittering like molten gold in the light of the fire. 

“I had tea with your mother, I watched Arya and Rickon play in the snow in the yard and I helped Bran with some of his studies in the library.” Myrcella shifted and draped her legs over the arm of the chair to get more comfortable. “We had dinner together, Arya seemed a little cold towards me.” Myrcella confessed before stifling a yawn. 

“She’ll come around, I’ll make sure of it.” Robb told her as she let out a loud yawn that even caused Greywind to huff back in response. “Come now my love, you need your rest.” Robb stood, carrying Myrcella over to their bed where he laid her down amongst the pillows. She spread out the blankets and nestled herself on the right side of the bed as Robb stripped down into his night clothes before joining her. Myrcella rolled over, throwing her arm over his chest and resting her head against his shoulder. He chuckled softly before kissing the top of her head. 

“Goodnight, Myrcella.” 

“G’night, Robb.” 

While is betrothed found sleep easily, Robb was not so fortunate. He laid awake while his lover dreamed peacefully. His thoughts were a mess of past and future, of hell and horror. When Myrcella rolled off of him and curled herself on the other side of their featherbed, Robb gently climbed out of bed. He pulled on trousers and a doublet, threw on boots and a cloak before he signaled Greywind to follow him. He wandered the Keep for awhile before he headed for the Godswood. 

It was a still, moonless night. The sky was the color of onyx, not a single cloud could be seen and no wind whistled through the trees. Robb didn’t see his little sister at first, it was only when he noticed the two golden eyes of her direwolf that he knew she was also in the godswood with him. He dove deeper in and found her slashing at the trunk of one of the trees with her skinny little sword. A warmness seeped into his heart as he watched her twist and turn. 

“You’re better at that than I expected.” He called out towards her. Arya whipped around, eyes wide like prey caught in a trap but then a sly grin slipped across her lips. 

“I’d bet I’m just as good as you now.” Arya taunted, sheathing her little needle at her side, crossing over to him. Robb chuckled, shaking his head as he sat on the bench underneath the weirwood, it’s crimson leaves still bright in the moonless night. 

“You wouldn’t last one minute in the training yard with me.” Robb taunted to which Arya crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her features. 

“I’ll take you up on that offer right now.” She shot back. Robb laughed heartily and wrapped an arm around Arya’s shoulder. She then wrapped her own arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. 

“I missed you.” She mumbled against the leather of his doublet. 

“Yeah, I missed you too.” Robb said with a sigh before a soft, proud smile came to his face. “You did a good job while mother and I were gone. Greatjon told me you were the one who gathered the bannermen.” Arya broke away and grinned wide, wiping the tears quickly from her eyes in an attempt to act like they hadn’t been there.

“I was just doing what father always did.” Arya admitted. 

“He would be proud of you, you served the North well.” Robb patted her shoulder and she looked down at her feet for a few moments, a silence lingering between them. 

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked, looking back up at him, concern etched on her face. Robb let out a heavy sigh again, his eyes wandering to the frozen reflecting pond across from them. 

“We’re sending letters. I don’t want to be fighting against Renly or Stannis, they’re not the enemy. If I can get those two in agreement for long enough to create an alliance between the three of us, we could easily overcome the Lannister army. As soon as we get a response, we’ll be marching back down to the Riverlands to help Uncle Edmure fight off the Kingslayer.” Robb gave a loose runthrough of the plan, he prayed to the gods that the two Baratheon brothers came to their senses quickly. 

“What if they don’t listen?” Arya asked, furrowing her eyebrows. 

“God’s only know what will happen if they don’t.” Robb replied, shaking his head. A silence swept over them for what felt like eons before Arya spoke up again. 

“Do you love her?” 

“What?”

“Myrcella. Do you love her?” Arya reiterated as Robb turned to look at her. She had gentle tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands balled up into fists in her lap. 

“Of course I do. She’s been nothing but kind towards me, towards us. She’s the entire reason I’m here right now.” Robb told his little sister, running a hand up and down her back. 

“But she’s a Lannister.” Arya spat out, the tears running down her face even faster. 

“She’s more Baratheon than Lannister.” Robb shot back before sighing and running a hand down his face. “I get that you hate the Lannisters, I do too but Myrcella is not one of them.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Arya rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“When father was arrested, Myrcella begged Joffrey to spare him. In return, he beat her and told her he was going to make me beg for father's life. Then he was going to kill him and then me.” Robb felt a hot rage ignite in his chest, a fire of guilt and anger in his belly. He turned to Arya and grabbed one of her shoulders, making her look at him. “Myrcella risked her life to come and tell me about Joffrey’s plan. Then she helped me escape King’s Landing and traveled with me all the way here. I owe Myrcella my life.” 

Another silence swept over them as a wind began to pick up, a few clouds drifting in across the black sky. 

“When are you gonna marry her?” Arya asked, the tears having dried on her face, her hands opened and relaxed in her lap. 

“Less than a fortnight.” Robb told her, shrugging. He knew as soon as he returned North he’d be marrying Myrcella but it hadn’t hit him until right then. 

“So soon? We need to save our resources and supplies, not spend them on a great feast. Winter Is Coming.” Arya scoffed, her words spoken with heavy authority. 

“Do you take me for some Southern, Arya?” Robb laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll be married in the Godswood and celebrate with a feast one tenth the size of anything done in the South.” 

“I really did miss you, Robb.” Arya said, wrapping her arms around him again. Robb sighed, draping his own arm over her shoulders. 

“I really missed you too, Arya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for seeming to drop off the face of the earth again, it's the last week of classes and then finals are next week so im hella stressed and have barely had time to eat. i hope you enjoyed this latest chapter tho!


	28. Sansa VII

Highgarden had become eerily quiet. Loras and Margaery were in Storm’s End, Garlan was wrapping up loose ends so he too could join his youngest siblings and most of the court had left after the wedding. The chaos of servants running up and down halls, yelling at each other in passing had been swept away as soon as the sun rose the morning after Sansa’s wedding night. 

Sansa appreciated the peace and quiet from the lack of servants who had been anxiously preparing for a gigantic affair with the terror of Olenna Tyrell breathing down their necks. Yet even with their disappearance, there still was mayhem within the castle. Sansa spent most of her days alone in the library or the gardens while Willas was off arguing with his father over their military and political strategies as the beginnings of war were among them. So far no battles had taken place but the realm was filled with tension as armies were formed and letters were sent with threatening words and harsh warnings. 

With an oncoming maelstrom of blood and gore that was to ravage the Realm, Sansa had found herself studying. When she was younger, she was happy with learning her womanly arts of embroidery, courtesies, poetry, the harp and the high bells. Now, Sansa was the wife of the future Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South and with the waging war, she felt as if knowing how to smile and sing weren’t enough. Willas had gifted her the ability to read any book in his extensive library, he even offered her tutors to help her but Sansa found it best if she read by herself. 

Before their wedding she had dived in to books on the stars and flowers but now she had gathered up books on war and politics. One monstrous book titled “History of Conflicts, Battles, Revolutions and Wars in Westeros.” had been the center of Sansa’s attention. It detailed any and every event that required soldiers to make their abilities known on the battlefield. As Sansa trudged through the hundreds of pages bound by leather, she was beginning to pick up the basics of war strategies, what worked and what didn’t. 

Along with the hours she spent locked away in the library, she began to take her afternoon tea with Olenna Tyrell. Her new good-grandmother had harsh opinions on the current state of affairs. She mocked Joffrey, calling him a goblin faced brat, rolled her eyes at Tywin Lannister by saying that “even if the Great Lion knows his way around a battlefield, he can’t shit gold forever.”. Olenna told Sansa that Stannis and Renly had their heads too far up their asses that they couldn’t focus on the true injustice happening. She did compliment her brother Robb in saying that while he was young, he wasn't acting stupid or rash which she accredited to the harsh cold of Winterfell. Olenna eagerly told Sansa that just because she was a woman didn’t mean she had to have a head full of air, that if she let her, Olenna could teach her more than a dusty book could. 

Sansa took her suppers with her husband, alone in their room. Willas always looked tired when he entered but as soon as he connected his gaze with hers, he relaxed and looked a little less overwhelmed. As they ate, they filled each other in on their days and Sansa grew more bold, telling Willas more every single evening. His eyes were always wide, his smiles always proud as she told him what she was learning. At first she was afraid he’d dismiss her, tell her he was tired of talking politics but instead he smiled and asked her more. 

Along with becoming more skilled in regards to gaining knowledge, Sansa grew bolder in her interactions with her new husband. Their wedding night had no bedding and while Sansa’s maidenhead still remained intact, the ways in which she showed her affection for Willas were always getting more daring. Each night there were more stolen kisses, more breathless prayers, more wandering hands. Every morning when the sun rose, sending golden rays through their window, Sansa and Willas woke with tangled limbs and sleepy smiles. 

It had been a particularly cool day in Highgarden and while most of the residence had opted to spend their day out under the sun, Sansa had once more stuffed herself away in the library under an open window. Her giant book was flipped open to the chapter on the First Blackfyre Rebellion, a mountainous stack of parchment sat next to her as she dutifully took notes as she read. Lady sat by her side, basking in a patch of sunlight flooding in from the window. She had been so dedicated to her reading that she hadn’t heard the door opening, she only looked up when Willas spoke. 

“What is my little wife doing, reading on a sunny day such as this one?” Willas asked, a grin across his face as he pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. Sansa set down her quill and smiled before shrugging her shoulders. 

“I’ve spent enough time in the gardens for now, my time needs to be spent here in the library.” Sansa told him, marking her place in the book before shutting it with a loud, deep thud. 

“Ah yes, you’re conquest of politics and war.” Willas grinned, a pride in his eyes, “You’ve even got my grandmother telling you about how to sway the tides of war.” 

“Lady Olenna has very intense opinions on these Four Kings.” Sansa said, shaking her head with a chuckle. 

“She has intense opinions on the cheese we serve at dinner.” Willas said, laughing along with her. “And now it’s actually five kings.” 

“Five?”

“Yes, Balon Greyjoy has said to have started scheming on how to wiggle his way into this conflict.” Willas said with a sigh, rubbing at one of his temples. Sansa could only think back to Winterfell and her father’s Ward, Theon. He had always been crude and funny when she was growing up, she wondered for a moment how he was. 

“Has there been any resolution between Renly and Stannis?” Sansa wondered, reaching down to pet the top of Lady’s head as her direwolf stretched. 

“So far, nothing. Renly believes he has more right to the throne than his older brother. Loras is the one who put that idea in his head, I know it. Gods know I love my brother but could he think with his brain, not his heart for one moment?” Willas asked, shaking his head in near disbelief. “Now there’s talk that Stannis has a woman on his council who is a Red Priestess, she seems to be influencing his ego.” 

“Any new from the North?” Sansa asked eagerly, her eyebrows furrowing in worry. Willas sat up and reached a hand out as Lady moved over towards him, nudging her head against his leg. 

“The Northern army has been gathered in Winterfell, dozens upon dozens of men have hailed your brother as King of the North. Most seem to accept Myrcella as the Queen but others are still doubtful. Robb is hoping to change that by marrying the Princess in less than a week.” Willas told her, reaching out to grasp her hand as a sadness faltered onto her face. Sansa had been disappointed in the state of affairs in which she had her own wedding, she couldn’t imagine Myrcella’s being any better. It had only been a few months since the two girls promised to be at each others weddings but circumstances change, they had been separated, thrown into lands not their own as arrogant men tore apart the realm. 

Sansa and Willas sat in silence for a little while, the only sounds were Lady’s huffs and growls as she dreamt and their own steady breathing. Soon enough though, Willas stood with the help of his cane and sighed. 

“Sadly, it is time for me to return to council.” Willas placed a soft kiss on the top of Sansa’s head that made her stomach do a little flip and her cheeks tint pink. 

“I’ll see you for supper?” Sansa questioned with a soft smile on her lips. 

“Of course, my love.” Willas told her, leaning down to kiss her lips softly before wandering out of the library. 

After that, Sansa found it hard to concentrate. She found herself reading the same sentence over and over again without taking in any of the information. Her thoughts were circling rapidly inside of her head. She thought of Myrcella, of Renly, of Stannis, of Robb and of Arya. She wondered if Myrcella felt just as lonely as she was sometimes. She thought of how stressed Robb must be, still mourning the loss of their father yet having to lead their family, their home, their army. Arya came to the forefront of her mind, she wondered how her little sister was faring amongst all of the chaos she was being swept up in. Sansa then wondered if Stannis and Renly could ever come to an agreement or if their sibling rivalry had morphed into a true enemy status. 

Sansa stuffed her notes in her book, slammed it shut and set it away before calling for Lady and wandering out of the library, in search of some solace from her own mind. 

She found some solitude in the gardens, far off from the other people enjoying the day. Sansa sat by one of the ponds filled with fish, her dress hiked up around her knees as she dangled her feet in the pond. Even out in the gardens she was lost in thoughts, only to be brought back to reality every time Lady bit at one of the fish or smacked her paw at one of them. Once more, she hadn’t heard anyone approaching her until they spoke. 

“Going for an afternoon dip?” 

Sansa looked up to see Garlan smiling down at her. He was dressed in a doublet of blue velvet with silver vines wandering over the bottom of the fabric. He wore eggshell white trousers and boots that came up just below his knees that were black and polished. 

“I’d been in the library studying, thought it might do me good to have a change of scenery.” Sansa told him as he sat down next to her, Lady instantly rolling over onto her back, begging for belly rubs from Garlan. 

“The gardens always tend to lift people's moods.” Garlan commented as he eagerly rubbed Lady’s belly, earning him happy groans from the direwolf. 

“When are you leaving for Storm’s End?” Sansa asked as she watched the colorful fish swim around her feet. 

“In two days time. I hope to knock some sense into my brother and Renly.” Garlan said, shaking his head. 

“I hope you succeed in doing so. It’ll save lives in the end.” Sansa stated, staring off into the distance. The two of them sat in silence, the sun beating down on their shoulders and heads. A while later Garlan stood, wished Sansa well before wandering off. 

Supper had already been placed out on the table in their room by the time Sansa returned. Willas was absent leaving her alone. Sansa sighed before quickly stripping of her dress and small clothes. She crossed to their wardrobe, pulled out the green silk robe and slipped it on, tying it off at her waist. She then crossed over to their vanity where she sat, plucking out pins and bands from her hair as she undid her braid, letting her hair fall loose down her back and shoulders. Once her hair was brushed out and shining, she then took her place at the table. Their dinner that night was lamb coated in mint, honey and cloves, a salad of spinach, sweet grass, peppers and walnuts. There were also soft rolls that were dripping with butter and a basket filled with lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. As Sansa was working through the salad, Willas walked in. 

“Hello, my love.” she greeted him from the table and he looked over to her and his cheeks lit up red. He wandered over, sitting down in his chair across from her. 

“You look absolutely radiant, Sansa.” Willas told her, grabbing his goblet and taking a sip of the sweet summer wine. 

“Thank you, Willas.” Sansa said, a fierce blush fluttering onto her own cheeks as she grabbed one of the rolls. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It doesn’t matter,I get to share this meal with you and that’s the only thing I could possibly care about right now.” Willas said, a fleeting smile falling onto his lips. The red color sank deeper onto Sansa cheeks as Willas grabbed her free hand and placed a soft kiss against her knuckles. 

The two of them then ate in relative peace and quiet, save for the few impatient whines of Lady waiting for the scraps of lamb to be tossed down to her. As their meal wined down and Sansa was debating if she could eat a third lemon cake, Willas spoke up. 

“I have two pieces of news for you, Sansa.” he said, setting down his wine goblet. Sansa raised her eyebrows in questioned and used the silence to allow him to continue. “A few letters arrived for you from Winterfell.” He said, pulling them out of his pocket. There was a stack of three of them, all of the seals still intact. He handed them over to her and she eagerly ripped open the top one. 

Sansa,  
I know I haven’t been the best at replying.  
It’s been hectic up here. Just know that everyone is safe in Winterfell.  
Arya is just as wild as ever, I haven’t told mother yet but Arya has become quiet the swordsman.  
Bran is doing well, he’s as studious as ever and adapting well to his disability.  
Rickon might be even more wild than Arya, he’s driving mother crazy.  
I miss you, Sansa but it’s safer for you to be in Highgarden than anywhere else.  
You won’t be stuck there forever, I promise.  
Write me soon.  
Love,  
Robb.

 

The end of the letter made Sansa’s eyes swell with tears but she shook them away and pressed on, ripping open the second letter. 

 

My dearest, sweetest Sansa,  
I hope the South is treating you well  
I know how lonely it can be to be so far from family.  
I’m sorry I wasn't there for your wedding.  
it breaks my heart I couldn’t have seen you on your special day.  
Yet, I know that Willas is treating you well.  
Remember, my love, no matter what name you have, you will always be a Stark.  
I’ll write again as soon as I can.  
Stay safe, sweet girl.  
Love,  
Mother. 

The second letter truly brought her to tears and she had to bury her face into her hands for a few moments before she was able to rip open the third and final letter. 

My lovely friend,  
I realized I hadn’t written to you since King’s Landing.  
It’s been chaos since I left with Robb but I can’t stop thinking about you.  
I heard you were beautiful on your wedding day, I have no doubt.  
I also have no doubt that you and Willas are enchanted with each other.  
I do thank you for the dresses you gave me, they’ve come in handy with how cold it is.  
I keep wondering how you didn’t freeze up here. I guess it’s my southern blood.  
I’ll be married soon, I wished to have you here with me but our circumstances just don’t allow us such pleasures.  
One day, when all this is over, we’ll see each other again.  
Stay strong, Sansa, I know you will.  
With love,  
Myrcella. 

By the time she was able to finish the last letter, Sansa was in full blown tears, soft sobs escaping from her lips. Willas had crossed over to hold her in his arms but still the tears came rolling down her cheeks. She hadn’t realized just how much she missed everyone until that moment. The friends she had made in the South were off marrying the warring Kings and her family was still up North without her. It broke her heart to think of all those she hadn’t seen in nearly a year. When she finally stopped crying, she pulled away from her husband and took a deep breath before drying her eyes. 

“Sansa, look at me.” Willas said, grabbing both of her hands. She turned her head and he had a soft, sad smile on his face. “I know how hard it is to be so far away from your family.” He told her, looking down at his lap for a few moments before he connected eyes with her again. 

“You and I have been so stressed lately from the state of affairs in the Realm so I’ve made a decision.” Willas said, a smile once more slipping onto his lips, “You and I will be heading for Oldtown in less than a week.” 

“Really?” Sansa asked, a hopeful twinkly in her eye. 

“Of course.” He said with a grin, “We need to start packing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want u all to know i wrote this instead of studying for my finals


	29. Myrcella VI

The morning of her wedding was clear, the sky a rich cerulean blue that would make painters envious and there wasn’t a single cloud to be seen for miles. The air was cold and crisp yet no breeze stirred the air. Myrcella had been woken early by two handmaidens, Alise and Maege, who shuffled her out of bed and into a bath before she could even register the fact she had been pulled from the comfort of her fur blankets. They dipped her in scalding hot water, the steam heavy and thick in the cold Northern air. They brushed the dirt and knots from her hair until it flowed like liquid gold, they scrubbed and scraped her skin raw and they slathered her in scents of lavender and pine.

As her two handmaidens styled her hair and prepped her small clothes, Myrcella felt anxiety begin to fester in her chest. She wasn’t worried about who she would find at the end of the aisle waiting for her under the weirwood, she was worried about what would come on the dawn after her wedding night. Her new husband would mount his steed and march his armies down to the Riverlands to go toe to toe with her grandfathers soldiers. She would be left in Winterfell as it’s Lady despite the protest of some of the northernmen. As she slipped on her small clothes, as soft knock came to the door. 

“Princess?” Catelyn Stark called in a gentle voice behind the wooden door. The stockier of her two maids, Maege, pulled the door open and in stepped Cat. She looked absolutely lovely standing in Myrcella’s room, despite the bags under her eyes. Catelyn Stark wore a dress of light grey with soft white fur trimmed around the collar, sleeves and hem. On one side of her chest sat a beautiful direwolf pin, it’s eye a gleaming red ruby, while the other side sported a jumping trout, it’s scales shimmering red and blue in the light. 

“Leave us.” Cat said, waving a hand at the two maids who looked at Myrcella for approval. She quickly nodded and as soon as the door closed behind Alise, Catelyn had her in a warm embrace that Myrcella didn’t hesitate to melt into. When they pulled away, Cat had a soft smile on her face. 

“You look so beautiful, Myrcella.” The Tully woman said, setting both of her hands softly on Myrcella’s cheeks. 

“Thank you, Lady Stark.” Myrcella responded, setting one of her hands on top of Cat’s and the older woman patted the youngers cheek. 

“Come now, I’m your new mother and you can call me as such.” Cat said with a smile before slipping her hands away and rushing for her wardrobe. “Let’s get you into your wedding dress.” From the wooden dresser, Catelyn pulled a heavy dress made of gold and onyx fabric. As her good-mother began to peel apart the dress into its layers to make putting it own an easier feet, she started to dispense her wisdom.

“I remember my wedding day,” Cat said as she helped Myrcella slip on one of the first few layers of golden fabric, “I remember getting dressed in the silence of my room in Riverrun and how much I wished my mother was there with me.” 

Another layer of fabric, this one a sheer onyx was slipped over Myrcella’s head and stopped at her hips. “I doubt your mother said anything good to you about what is going to take place today.” Cat commented as the second to last layer was pulled onto Myrcella’s body. 

“My mother told me that no matter how much I smiled or laughed, it wouldn’t stop the terror inside my belly.” Myrcella said, her voice soft and the weight of her words heavy like lead in her mouth.. She still remembered the night her betrothal was announced, how when she sat in her bedroom, starry eyed and reeling, her mother stole inside her quarters, spitting venomous words and wreaking of wine. 

“My mother said that if I thought Southern men were adulterous liars, that Northern men were nothing less than savages dressed in wool and fur. ” Myrcella felt hot tears pool in her eyes and her breath was caught in her throat, as if her mother’s words were choking her. “She told me that Robb would show me no kindness or courtesies once the door to our bed chamber was closed.” 

Catelyn helped the last layer of fabric over her head before she wiped away the few tears that had escaped down her cheeks. “I raised Robb better than that and I know you’re well aware of my son’s nature.” Catelyn said, her voice stern in disdain, not for Myrcella but for her mother. 

“Marrying Northern men can be quiet the feet but Robb is a good man just like his father and Ned was ten times the man any Southern lord could ever hope to be.” Catelyn had some sorrow in her voice but she didn’t address it and Myrcella didn’t mention it. They stood in silence for a few moments as Catelyn helped clasp the maiden cloak at Myrcella’s throat and fixed the braids in her hair. 

“I also know what it’s like to be married for political gain and for your husband to ride off into battle the dawn after your wedding.” Catelyn told her and Myrcella imagined a young Cat with fiery hair and river blue eyes full uncertainty as she wandered the halls of Winterfell with a babe in her belly, not knowing when and if her new husband would return to his home. Myrcella turned and looked at Catelyn who was also now fighting back a few tears. 

“I know it can be lonely here, Myrcella, just know that you are my daughter, I am your mother and I will always be here for you.” Cat gripped Myrcella’s shoulders as tears slid down both of their cheeks, an understanding between them. Both women had been traded off because of their birthright and left to freeze up in the North, alone and without guidance. After a few silent moments of acknowledgement, Myrcella turned and looked at herself in the mirror. 

“You look beautiful, my dear.” Catelyn said and Myrcella had to agree. Her dress was made of bright golden velvet, her sleeves made of thick black fur running down to her wrists, and some trimmed her collar. A dozen onyx stags were prancing across her skirts and a black lace design laid upon her chest. Her maiden cloak was the same shade of gold with one gigantic black stag guarding her back, the crown around his neck was gilded and glittering. Atop her golden hair sat a crown made of tempered, dull steel in the shape of two antlers, two pearls dripping off the tips as if they were morning dew on grass. A knock came to the door and her maid Alise spoke. 

“Princess, My Lady, it’s time.” 

With that, Catelyn offered Myrcella her arm, which she graciously took and they began their trip out of the castle. The two of them walked in silence, the chaos of servants rushing about to prep for the feast was heard echoing throughout the Keep. As each step took them closer to the godswood, Myrcella felt fear begin to seep into her core. The brightness outside stung her eyes but she carried on even as the godswood and its crowd came into sight. Myrcella felt as if her legs had been turned to lead and her arms felt like jelly as a nausea trembled under her tongue. 

“Ready, my dear?” Catelyn whispered in her ear and Myrcella nodded softly before the two then stepped into the Godswood. 

Every single bit of doubt and fear was washed away as soon as Myrcella set her eyes on Robb. 

She thought her heart might burst in her chest as she walked down the aisle towards him. Her betrothed wore a doublet of light grey with a howling direwolf protecting his chest, it’s watchful eye was a large shimmering ruby. His curly hair was brushed, shimmering copper in the morning light and within his locks sat a crown, the same dull tempered steel as her own, his adorned with one single pearl in the middle and nothing else. 

In that moment as Myrcella walked across the fresh snow that had fallen the night before, nothing else mattered except for Robb. Not the dozens of Northerns staring at her in contempt because of her birthright, not the chaos wreaking havoc on foot soldiers on the battlefield and not the squabbling of bored Southern lords with bloodlust coursing through their veins. As Myrcella and Cat made it to the front of the altar underneath the weirwood, Myrcella noted the presence of a Septon in front of her and Robb. While normally the father of the groom’s House officiated the wedding, Robb was the head of his House so to take his place was the Septon of winterfell. 

“Who comes before the Old God’s this dawn?” Called the Septon, his voice echoing in the early morning air. 

“Myrcella, of the House Baratheon, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” Catelyn called, her grip steadying Myrcella’s legs. 

“Robb, of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King of the North. Who gives her?” Robb answered back, a grin wide on his face. 

“Catelyn, of the House Stark and Tully.” Catelyn then slipped away and took her place in the crowd right next to Arya. Myrcella moved forward and took her place standing across from Robb who reached out and clasped her hand. 

“Lady Myrcella, do you take this man?” The Septon asked, his voice deep and cracking with age. 

“I take this man.” Myrcella said proudly and Robb beamed at her as he reached his hands up to remove the maiden cloak from her shoulders, his hands warm on her neck as he undid the clasp. Theon Greyjoy then handed him a cloak of steel and snow with a fearsome direwolf growling embroidered on it. Robb slipped it around her shoulders, clipped it at her neck and then his hands flew to her cheeks where he pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. Myrcella threw her arms around his shoulders and she heard the cheers of the crowd, laughing and shouting in jubilation and for a moment, Myrcella felt at peace. 

The feast began right as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the world in a golden light. Myrcella had remembered the shouting of the feast echoing in her ears on her first night in Winterfell and if she thought Northerners were loud then, they were deafening now. Her and Robb had stood hand in hand outside of the doors to the Great Hall, listening to the laughter, music and shouts of their people. They both shared glances before they walked through the doors to the Great Hall and Myrcella felt as if her ears might burst from the noise. Everyone confined within the four walls were shouting and cheering their names drunkenly as they walked towards their seats in the middle of the dais. To Myrcella’s left sat Catelyn, her new good-mother was smiling wide at the chaos below them. To her right was Arya, already chugging down wine while no one paid close attention to her. 

Myrcella had been told all her life that her wedding would be one of the most extravagant the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Her mother wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect for her and her father just loved indulging in food, music and fools. Half of Westeros would be invited to her wedding feast with at least a dozen court jesters and no less than 30 separate courses. The events flashing before her eyes was nothing compared to that. 

A bard sang in a heady baritone voice as an young girl played the bells and an older man played the lute. The Northerners in front of her danced, sang and drank as four courses marked the passage of time. 

Gifts were exchanged during the first course of a light brown broth filled with chunks of onion, carrot and potato. As Robb’s bannermen came to the dais with presents in hand, Myrcella tried eagerly to remember their names and items, vowing to eventually thank each of them individually. From the Bolton’s came a beautiful set of daggers, each one with a wolf head, bearing his teeth on the hilt. A blur of books and pledges of services came from houses Dustin, Locke and Stout before the Cerwyn’s gifted Myrcella a new set of cloaks, each one with Northern touches like snowflakes or wolf head. Lord Karstark gave Robb a silver crossbow and Myrcella a set of gloves. House Crowl and Woolfield both gave sets of maps with unknown secrets scrawled all over 

The last and most memorable gift came from Arya. She rose from her seat, had one of the guards hand her a small box before she rounded the table to stand in front of Myrcella and Robb. She slowly opened the box and out pulled a gift for each of them. Myrcella’s was bigger than her husband but they were matching. In her hand was a chain, the same dull steel grey of the crown atop her head yet it carried a heavy amulet. A bright silver wolf with a soft red eye sat on one side while an onyx and gilded stag was on the other, both of them arched into the shape of a heart. Myrcella had her’s on a chain while Robb’s was a pin meant for his doublets. The smile on Myrcella’s face was the widest it had been all day and tears pricked in her eyes as she clutched the necklace to her chest. 

“Thank you, Arya, this is the most thoughtful thing I’ve been gifted tonight.” She said and Arya simply bowed low before grinning and returning to her seat. 

After that, Myrcella slowly loosened up as the course of chicken slathered with honey and butter with a generous covering of garlic and parsley was presented alongside snap peas and a fresh, crisp wine. She downed two cups full of the sweet red, a heat tingling in her chest as she began to soak in the night. Her and Robb were totally immersed in each other, singing along to the bard or laughing at each others stories, just like the first night they met. When the third course came through, Myrcella realized she hadn’t even tasted the one previous. The dish in front of her was heavy and smelled of the North. Thick pieces of steak sat steaming, still a little bloody with more potato chunks yet these ones were roasted in oil and basil. There were big fluffy rolls with little crosses carved into them, the butter glistening off of each in the candlelight. Myrcella realized as her plate was set in front of her that she hadn’t truly eaten all day and she didn’t hesitate to dive in. 

By the time dessert rolled around, some of the people had left, already too drunk to remember anything on the morrow and Myrcella found herself in a small panic. As tarts filled with cinnamon apples and honey cakes were set out with chilled milk and steaming tea, she realized that as soon as the final course was cleared, the bedding ceremony began. She knew little of what the North did for their traditions but she knew that the South loved their bedding ceremony. Luckily, just as the dessert began to clear from the tables, Robb stood. 

“It grows late, on the morrow we will march down South yet for now, my bride and I will be retiring to our chambers. I encourage you all to feast as you please but remember the journey in the morning.” Robb stated before turning to Myrcella and offering her his hand which she graciously took. 

As they walked down the halls to their shared chambers, their footsteps seemed to echo forever through the stone Keep with the feast sounding as if it was miles away. Myrcella felt her heart beat a little harder with each step she took. When they stepped in front of the door to their room, she thought her heart might crack her ribs with the force it had. Robb pulled them both inside before closing the door behind them and barring it shut. He then untangled his hand from Myrcella’s and crossed the room to the hearth where he lit a crackling fire. When he looked back up, she still stood by the door, her eyes bright and wild, her body stiff in hesitation. Robb gave her a soft smile as he walked over to her. His hands easily found her waist and Myrcella leaned into his touch, resting her head against his chest. He planted a soft kiss on top of her head before moved his hands up to her shoulders and pulled away. 

“Let’s brush out your hair.” He said, nudging her towards the vanity where she instinctively sat as Robb then began his ritual of undoing the bands and pins in her hair before slowly brushing it out. The cracklings of the fire and the slow, deep breaths of her new husband brought a peace to the room and Myrcella slowly let herself relax into Robb’s touch. 

His hands were warm on her neck and shoulders as he brushed through the knots and tangles of her hair. She was slowly relaxing into his touch, her breath growing slow and her eyes slipping shut until Robb spoke up. 

“Myrcella...I have a proposition for you.” He said, a slight shake in his voice that signaled anxiety. 

“What is it, my love?” Myrcella asked as her eyes fluttered open. She looked into to mirror to see Robb with a fist full of her hair, he refused to lock eyes with her reflection as he ran his fingers through her locks nervously.

“This is my war, I do not expect you nor do I want you to fight it.” Robb started out, Myrcella noting that his hands were shaking, “but you know the South better than I do, better than a lot of my bannerman.” He said, his hands losing their grip in her hair and sliding down her neck until he stopped at her shoulders. 

“As well, you know the capabilities of the Lannister army and we do not besides the numbers and the long told rumors.” Robb stated, some confidence growing in his tone.

Myrcella thought back to the time she confided in Robb about her family structure. When it came to her mother, Joffrey was the golden child, she was the perfect princess and Tommen was the baby. When it came to her grandfather, Lord Tywin thought Joffrey to be a brat and her to be the easiest to mold. While it wasn’t traditional for girls to know the strength of their houses armies, their militaries capabilities on the battlefield or the best strategies to be used, her grandfather found it useful for at least one of his grandchildren to understand is craft. Lord Tywin spent a few hours each week tutoring Myrcella on the military prowess that belonged to her house and her grandfather. 

“Where are you going with this, Robb?” Myrcella asked, turning around to face her husband who closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Will you come with me? You won’t be alone, you’ll have my mother and two handmaids and you’ll be more useful in the war council room than you will up here, freezing.” Robb admitted and Myrcella jumped to her feet, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Robb did not hesitate to kiss back, one hand resting on the small of her back while the other tangled in her golden locks. Moments later they broke apart, red in the face and breathless, Robb grinned at her. 

“I take that as a yes,” he said with a grin to which she nodded, “Good, now let’s get you out of that dress.” 

Myrcella found herself covered in goose pimples as Robb turned her around and plucked the strings loose on her corset as if he was a harp player. She felt the fabric loosen around her body and it was not long before the golden fabric slipped from her form and pooled at her feet. She slipped the other layers of silk and chiffon from her waist, leaving her in just her small clothes. When she turned to face Robb, his cheeks were as red as his hair as his eyes dragged up and down her body. 

“You’re turn.” Myrcella whispered before she kissed him softly and helped him remove his doublet which she tossed into some unseen corner of the room for a handmaid to discover in the dawn. Her hands ran through the soft, curly red hair that grew in the middle of his chest while he began to kiss her cheek. Myrcella’s quick fingers pulled the strings on his trousers loose which fell to his feet and he stepped out of them, moving both of them closer to the bed as they were both left in their small clothes. Their faces were red hot, their breaths coming in short, hard rasps as gooseflesh ran up and down their arms. Robb trailed his kissed down her throat and to the crook of her neck, each place of kid lips feeling like fire on her skin. He bit down softly which brought a soft gasp rising from Myrcella’s lips. Robb then sat down on the mattress, his hands on Myrcella’s hips and simply admired her. 

“You are the most beautiful woman to ever grace my life.” Robb said, his voice barely above a whisper. Myrcella felt her heart beat increase, it pounding against her ribs as hard as it could. In a moment of bravery, Myrcella slipped off her chemise, leaving her completely exposed to the night air and Robb’s face deepened in color, his eyes darkening with desire. He stood and kissed her hard, his lips mashing against hers and even though he took his kissed unapologetically, she could tell her was nervous by the way his fingers shook against her skin. 

Myrcella thought back for a moment, to her first night within the walls of Winterfell’s Keep and to the venomous words her mother spewed. Her mother said Robb would rip her dress from her skin, his hands would leave bruises in their wake as he took her maidenhood without any remorse and if she was lucky, he would do it from behind so she could bury her head into a pillow to mask her sobs. Rage burned in her chest for a moment before the movement brought her back to reality. Robb had gently helped her lay down against the mattress, her legs still dangling over the side as he stepped back once more to admire her. 

“I’ll go slow, stop me as soon as you’re uncomfortable.” He said to which Myrcella nodded, a heat bubbling in the lowest most part of her stomach. Robb smiled nervously, before crawling on top of her, hovering above her as he began kissing on her neck again. Myrcella let out a content sigh as her hands slid down his back, her nails digging in slightly. Robb groaned in delight as she did so before her hands rested on his hips. She ran her hands to the front of his body and began to unlace his breeches. Robb got to his knees, pulled them down the rest of the way before scooting her onto the mattress more so her legs were no longer dangling off the edge. 

Myrcella closed her eyes and let the pleasure of the moment over take her. Robb kissed down her chest as one of his hands found one of her breasts, massaging gently while her showered the other one in kisses. Myrcella let soft moans and gasps escape her parted lips as her skin felt like she was on fire. 

When Robb’s hand left her breast moments later, she let out a groan of disappointment which left her husband chuckling. His hand dragged down her side, all the way to her hips before dipping in between her legs. Myrcella gasped in delight as one of Robb’s fingers slipped in between her slit and ran slowly up and down. 

“By the God’s,” Myrcella said breathlessly, “Robb don’t stop.” She pleaded to which he picked up the pace, finding the small sensitive bud at the top of her that made shockwaves of pleasure run through her body. Myrcella’s hands clutched the sheets underneath her body as Robb slowly but surely picked up the pace until she was seeing stars behind her eyelids and a heat was rising in her belly. 

Robb’s mouth found her neck again and moments after that, an ecstasy exploded inside of Myrcella, causing loud moans to leave her lips as she clawed at the sheets and arched her back. It felt like eons later that she came back down to earth, her chest heaving with hard breaths as she ran a hand over her forehead and through her hair. Robb just chuckled against her skin before lifting his head and kissing her lips softly. 

“Take me,” Myrcella breathed, “take all of me.” She begged to which Robb leaned up, moving her legs apart and leaning against her, she could feel his length rest up against her slit. 

“Of course, my love.” He said, taking his length in hand as he lined up to her entrance. “It’s gonna hurt, I’ll go as slow as I can.” She nodded and closed her eyes, putting every ounce of her trust in him. She felt him slip between her lips and slowly push into her. At first it was a slow burn but as Robb sheathed his entire length inside of her, a sharp pain coursed through her as he broke her maidenhead. She let out a yelp as she flinched from the pain and Robb kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. 

“I’m so sorry, Myrcella.” He said, his voice low and husky, “I can stop, I’ve broken your maidenhead, that’s all that needs to be done.” He told her but she shook her head,blinking back tears. 

“No, I want this, I want you.” She begged, wrapping her legs around his waist, feeling him shift inside of her. “Please, I want more.” Robb waited for a few moments before kissing her deeply and slowly moving back in forth. It took quiet a few moments of messy thrusts and grinds before they found a decent tempo that had the both of them moaning. Robb had his hands gripping her hips as he slipped back and forth, moaning and gasping her name as the seconds passed. Myrcella felt a flicker of heat begin to pool in her stomach but it wasn’t enough. She slipped a hand down in between her legs and found the bud Robb had discovered earlier. She circled it gently as he picked up the pace, thrusting a bit harder which caused them both to gasp. 

For a moment or two, Myrcella remembered the words of her Septa who had told her a proper lady would lay beneath her husband as he bedded her, waiting for him to finish so she could simply sleep. She warned that only wanton women found pleasure in sex and that her husband would only make her comfortable. Septa be damned, she realized, this was the best she had felt in her entire life and she never wanted it to stop. 

It wasn’t before long that the same feeling from before was creeping up on not only Myrcella but Robb as well. Stars were starting to flash in her vision and Robb’s grip on her hips tightened as his pace became more frantic. The second time pleasure claimed her entire being, it was more intense than the first and she was nearly screaming his name as she climaxed. Robb found his ecstasy just as she was coming down from hers and she felt a warmth fill inside of her. 

For eons it felt as if they stayed still, trying to catch their breath and return back to their bodies. Robb pulled out, leaving Myrcella feeling slightly empty and alone but he kissed her forehead before climbing out of bed. She sat up, her head still reeling as her husband handed her a wool robe which she slipped on, tying at her waist. Robb did the same with a robe of his own then he crossed the room to the other side of the bed, climbing underneath the furs. Myrcella quickly joined him as she felt the chill in the air. They didn’t hesitate to snuggle up to one another, Myrcella resting her head on his shoulder as Robb wrapped an arm around her. 

“It’s time for us to sleep, we have a long journey ahead of us.” Robb said, tiredness seeping into his words, 

“I love you.” Myrcella muttered against his skin, already half asleep, her thoughts thousands of miles away from where she was at that moment. Robb sighed in content before closing his eyes. 

“I love you too, my sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for such a long hiatus but I’ve found more motivation to write yay! But there is something I need to address 
> 
> Recently I have been receiving comments that I know are trying to be helpful but have driven me away from writing this. Some of the comments include simple grammar errors which can be helpful if said in the right tone, but they usually aren’t. Others are commenting on my direction with the plot. Witj all due respect, if you do not like the way I am writing my fic you are not forced to read it. My story is my own. I am sharing it with you because I hope others can find as much enjoyment in reading it as i have when writing it, but I would appreciate in the future if the comments and critiques were helpful rather than condescending.
> 
> Thank you for taking time to read my fic.


	30. Robb VIII

It was still dark out when Robb woke from a deep slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he was met with the warmth of Myrcella’s body against him and he was reminded of the events hours beforehand. Sighing contentedly, Robb turned to face his newly wedded wife as she slept. He couldn’t help but admire her in the dim light of the early dawn. He knew that this moment would not last forever so he took as long as he could to savor it. He had been lost in her looks for so long that by the time she woke, he didn’t even realize. 

“Hello, Robb?” Myrcella whispered sleepily as he was gazing into her emerald eyes, noting the flecks of gold in her iris. 

“Hello there, love.” Robb said with a soft smile as he snapped out of his trance. Myrcella wiggled closer to him, wrapping her arms around him as she nuzzled her head against his chest. Robb embraced her before resting his chin on top of her head. 

“Is it time to get up yet?” Myrcella mumbled as he ran his hands up and down her back. 

“Not yet, my love.” He said in a low, quiet voice, “it’s not even light outside yet.” He told her as his eyes slipped shut again. 

“Good,” Myrcella said, “because I’m not ready to leave this bed.” She then threw the covers over her head and Robb laughed heartily.

“Neither am I.” He said, joining her under the covers. 

They laid in bed as long as they could, exchanging kisses and giggles as hands wandered more than ever before. The sky was finally turning a dull blue when a knock came to his door. 

“Your Grace,” Theon Greyjoy called from behind the wood, “The bannermen have arisen and are beginning to pack. I suggest you start to get dressed.” 

“Thank you, Theon.” Robb called as he pulled back the covers. 

“Of course, I’ll see you in the courtyard.” 

With that, Robb and Myrcella reluctantly climbed forth from their featherbed to begin their day. They dressed in a comfortable silence as they helped each other put on their layers of wool and furs. Just as Myrcella was brushing out her hair, she spoke up. 

“How long will we travel for today?” She asked as she began to tame her shortened mane into something manageable. 

“We’ll make camp when dusk sets upon us.” Robb told her as he pulled on his cloak, grabbing a present gifted the night before from the table. 

“I never thought I’d be going down South again.” Myrcella muttered as she stood and grabbed her own cloak. Robb turned and set his hands on her shoulders, squeezing softly.  
“Hey, I promise that nothing will happen, to me or you.” He said to which she nodded softly. Robb then smiled and leaned forward to kiss the top of Myrcella’s head. 

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too,” he responded. Robb then cupped her cheeks and leaned in for a kiss. Myrcella quickly jumped up to meet his lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. They stayed like that for a few moments before Robb broke away with a smile.

“Now,” He said, “I have a few things to attend to before we leave, I’ll meet you in the courtyard at sunrise.” Myrcella nodded and gave him a smile before he turned on his heel, marching out of the room to his destination. 

The halls were already abuzz as he made way for his mothers chambers. He waved hello to dozens of servants and bannermen carrying trunks, barrels and boxes filled with supplies. When he came upon the door to his mother’s room, he froze for a minute, reminded of the fact that he would only find his mother and not both her and his father. A sharp burst of pain echoed through Robb’s heart as he wrapped his knuckles against the wood. He heard his mother call from within and he slipped open the door. Catelyn was shutting the lid of her trunk closed as Robb wandered in, closing the door behind him. His mother smiled softly before quickly embracing him. After lingering for a moment or two they broke apart. 

“I’m not quiet sure why I’m coming along with you, Robb, I’m not sure I would be much help on a battlefield.” Catelyn admitted, pushing some of her hair from her face. 

“That’s actually what I’ve come to talk to you about.” Robb said as his mother raised an eyebrow in question.

“So far Stannis has told us that either we support him or we support Renly, not both. “ Robb explained to his mother as she pulled on gloves and a cloak of her own. 

“Well Stannis doesn’t want any possibility of Renly being able to sit the throne.” Cat said, slipping a grey cloak over her dark blue gown. 

“I’ve haven’t received a response from Renly but he has married into House Tyrell. Perhaps if we can convince the Tyrell’s who have Sansa, maybe they’ll convince Renly as well.” Robb wondered. 

“What’s any of this got to do with me, my love?” Cat asked, her eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“I need someone to go to Storm’s End.” Robb said, “Theon is my right hand, Myrcella would be in too much danger, so it’s up to you.” Robb explained and Catelyn looked worried.

“Are you sure you want me?” Cat said, still unsure of it all. 

“Of course,” Robb said with a chuckle, “You’ve convinced 5 northern children to eat and bathe regularly, you can do anything.” Robb laughed to which Catelyn smiled and smacked his arm. 

“If you think I’m the best choice, then I guess I’ll do it.” Cat said, setting her hands on her hips. 

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the courtyard at sunrise.” Robb told her, turning his back as he went to leave.

“Where else are you off to?” Catelyn called after him.

“To see Arya!” 

His little sisters direwolf was sitting guard outside her door when he arrived, Nymeria’s golden eyes staring at him for a few moments before the wolf scratched at the door then whined. The door to Arya’s room flew open and she stood there half dressed for the day. When she realized it was Robb, she smiled and waved him in as she turned back towards her bed. Arya wore a dark blue skirt with a brown leather doublet on top with silver clasps down her chest. She was reaching for her black belt when Robb spoke up. 

“You look like a true Lady of Winterfell.” He said with a smile on his face. 

“Thank you,” Arya said as she clasped her belt around her hips before reaching for Needle. “I’m just glad I have more experience this time around.” 

“You did fantastic the first time, I have no doubt you’ll be great again.” Robb encouraged her. A silence fell in between them for a few moments as Arya fiddled with the hilt of her sword. 

“Do you think father would be proud?” She whispered her question, staring down at the floor. Robb felt a twinge of guilt in his heart. Their father had always been the one to let Arya get away with more than any one should have. 

“I know he’s proud of you.” Robb told her as he reached to grab something from his belt. “Now, when Jon left for the Wall, he gave you Needle.” 

“What makes you think it was Jon?” Arya snapped, defensive in her tone with her brows furrowed. Robb couldn’t contain his laughter. 

“Of course it was Jon!” He laughed, setting a hand on his stomach, “You two are as thick as thieves.” 

“Alright alright! Just stop laughing!” Arya argued, crossing her arms over her chest. Robb shook his head and sighed before continuing. 

“You got a sword from one brother,” he said, pulling out a dagger from behind his back, “Now you’ll have this.” He handed it over to her. 

Arya looked at the sheathed dagger in wonder, running her fingers over hilt, the white shining metal of the cross guard with dark vines etched in, the twisted black iron of the grip and the white direwolf with ruby eyes, barring its shining teeth on the pommel. 

“This is your wedding present, from the Bolton’s.” Arya said as she turned it over in her hands. 

“Aye,” Robb nodded, “but Lord Bolton gave me a matching set.” He told her as he pulled out the matching on from his hip. 

“One will fight for the North and the other will protect it.” Robb told her. Arya tossed the dagger onto her bed where her cloak and gloves sat before throwing herself into Robb’s arms. 

“Stay safe, please.” Arya whispered into his chest and he nodded. 

“Of course, I plan on living long enough to see you finally get married.” Robb laughed and Arya wheeled back, smacking him right in his shoulder. 

“I’ll see you at sunrise.” She told him with a smile. 

After Robb left his little sisters chambers, he found himself out in the courtyard, helping load up supplies and organize his bannermen. Before long, the sun had crested over the horizon and as he was loading barrels onto a cart, he noticed Myrcella, Arya, Bran and Rickon all gathered around in a circle. As he was making his approach, so was his mother and he could tell she was making a bee line straight for his youngest sister. 

“Arya Stark, who gave you those weapons?” Catelyn demanded as soon as she was within arms length of her daughter. Arya opened her mouth to argue but Robb spoke first. 

“I did.” He told her proudly. “I gave her Needle before I left for the South with Sansa and Father. I gave her the dagger today.” 

“Why in Seven Hell’s would you—“ 

“Because she’s the Lady of Winterfell. The one who leads our people and she should know how to protect herself and them.” Robb defended her and Catelyn shook her head. 

“You and I will talk about this later.” Catelyn said in a stern, motherly tone. Arya rolled her eyes before flashing Robb a smile. Theon Greyjoy came over just as his mother was going to say something else. 

“Lord’s Karstark and Bolton are growing restless, Your Grace.” Theon informed him, already red in the cheeks from the morning chill. 

“Tell them to mount their steeds, we’ll leave in a few moments.” Robb commanded before turning back to his siblings. Arya was the first in line, a sly smile on her face. 

“I have no doubt you’ll keep Winterfell safe, just remember to control that tongue of yours.” Robb grinned before hugging his little sister tightly. 

“I’ll make you proud.” She mumbled before breaking away. 

Next was Bran, sitting in a chair and bundled in furs. 

“By the time I get back, you’ll probably be smarter than I could ever hope to be.” 

“Just come back safe, okay?” Bran asked, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Robb knelt onto the ground and wrapped his arms around his brother before moving on to Rickon. He scooped his youngest sibling up in his arms which caused him to laugh. 

“And you,” Robb smiled as Rickon let out a wolf-like growl, “I don’t expect you to be tamed at all.” Everyone laughed before Robb kissed Rickon on the forehead before putting him down. 

“I suspect the bannermen want to start marching before the snow starts.” Robb said. Catelyn and Myrcella nodded, Catelyn turning to hug all her children as Robb helped Myrcella mount a golden colored mare. When he turned back around, Arya was standing stoically, fighting back tears as Rickon was curled up in Bran’s lap while Catelyn was heading for her own mount. 

Robb waved one last time before he climbed atop his own dark brown stallion, tugging on the reigns as he trotted to the front of his bannermen. A breeze blew through the air, crisp and snapping as grey clouds began to roll in overhead, signaling the ever looming presence of snow in the North. He gazed out upon dozens and dozens of soldiers, young and old, bundled in furs and wools, the emblems of their houses blazen upon their chests. Some carried daggers, others maces and longswords. Robb knew that some of them would march home while others wouldn’t but he forced that to the back of his mind. Atop of the mounts in front of him were the Lords of the North, waiting for his commands to begin their descent South. 

“As I look upon the crowd this dawn, I see dozens of brave men, young and old, who fight for what they truly believe in. Everyone of us here fights for justice, for liberty, for freedom. We fight because we have no other options.” Robb spoke confidently, a steady tone in his voice as his stead trotted in front of his men. 

“As we head down South, remember why we are marching.” He pulled his stallion to a stop, a fire beginning to burn in his heart. “We fight because a Boy playing King murdered my father, your leader, after he begged for his life. We fight because the Southern Lords think this is nothing but a new game for them to play, as they bicker over the lives of innocents. We fight because the Kingslayer and the Mountain are ransacking the Riverlands, murdering our allies and brothers. We fight because Tywin Lannister thinks he can bully the rest of the Realm into submission.” Robb’s voice was growing hoarse as his anger was rising to a crescendo within him. 

“We fight for the North, for Winterfell! We do this so no one will ever dare to anger the North again!” With that, a round of thunderous applause and shouts of approval echoed in his ears and rumbled in his chest. 

After that, they began their march out of the gates and down the road towards the rising sun as soft, gentle snowflakes began to dance down from the clouds above. For hours, they marched on even as the snow picked up and ice joined in. When they clouds finally parted, the sun had already began its descent towards the horizon, casting an orange haze upon the world. They finally stopped and made camp just outside the Barrowlands in an open field surrounded by dense pine trees. As soon as he climbed off of his mount, he was busy helping unload supplies, put up tents and build fires.

By the time he was able to retire to his own tent, he was nearly exhausted from riding all day and setting up camp. He found Myrcella bundled up in a pile of furs, sitting at a little table with a tray of food in front of her. She looked up from her plate as he walked in and smiled brightly at him. He tore off his cloak and boots before collapsing into the chair in front of her. He let out a loud, deep sigh before sitting up and pouring himself a glass of wine from the metal pitcher on the table. 

“Tired?” Myrcella asked as she spread butter onto a piece of bread. Robb simply nodded as he took large gulps from his mug, hoping perhaps the sweet Dornish red would perk him up. As he reached for his own chunk of warm bread, a loud burst of laughter echoed from somewhere else in the camp, causing him to jump. Myrcella chuckled, shaking her head. 

“Seems as if everyone is settling in for the night.” She commented, taking a sip from her own mug. 

“Everyone seems to be keeping high spirits.” Robb mentioned before looking up at his wife. Her hair was loose, soft ringlets reaching her shoulders and she seemed comfortable, wrapped in furs. “How are you doing, my love?” he asked, taking a bite of his bread. 

“I’m okay, worn out but I’m sure I’ll adjust.” Myrcella said with a soft smile. Robb’s heart swelled for a moment with pride, his little wife was always such the fighter. 

“I’m proud of you,” He said softly. 

“For what?” 

“For everything.” 

The rest of their meal was eaten in content silence as they worked through more bread along with a steaming, hearty stew filled with carrots, potatoes and chunks of venison. As soon as their plates were cleared, both of them eagerly stripped of their clothes and climbed into bed, warm under the furs and wool blankets. Myrcella was the one who found sleep quickly, her arms wrapped around Robb with her head rested on his chest. Despite how tired he was, Robb himself could not find sleep to save his life. He tossed and turned, desperate to find comfort and rest but his attempts seemed to be effortless. Fed up, Robb slipped from his bed, pulling on trousers and his cloak before yanking on a set of boots. He patted Grey Wind’s head, the wolf giving him a tired grumble. 

“Stay here, watch over Myrcella.” Robb whispered to his wolf, the beast grumbling once more he rolled over onto his side. A soft smile fluttered across Robb’s lips before he sighed and headed out into the night. 

Robb wandered around his camp,walking around tents filled with sleeping soldiers and passing by the few groups of men still awake, laughing and talking with mugs of wine or ale in their hands as they gathered around blazing fires. The sky above him was filled with vibrant, twinkling stars and the moon was a sliver of a crescent. Robb found an abandoned, dying fire towards the back of the camp, near the treeline and that's where he settled. He threw a few more sticks onto the flames to bring it back to life as his thoughts swirled madly around inside his head. He thought of the battles to come, the strategies, the meetings. He thought of his wife, his mother, his siblings, all strewn across the country. 

“Would you like some company?” Robb looked up to find Theon hovering near him, two tankards in hand, his face already flushed from drinking. 

“Of course.” Robb said with a smile, gesturing to the seats next to him. Theon took a seat to his left and then handed him a mug filled with a pale ale. Robb took it with gratitude and for a few minutes, the two sat in silence, staring at the fire and taking sips of their ale. After what felt like forever, Robb finally spoke up. 

“Am I doing the right thing?” He asked, worry seeping into his voice and onto his features. 

“What?” Theon asked, obviously caught off guard by Robb’s outburst. 

“I mean, with the war and everything. Is this the right thing or am I in over my head?” Robb reiterated, his heart pounding against his ribs. “I don’t know anything about righting a war.” 

“The Lannisters murdered your father and nearly murdered you as well. If you hadn’t declared the war, another Northern would have.” Theon reasoned with him. 

“But, is this what my father would have wanted? All of this bloodshed?” Robb wondered, shaking his head, still filled with doubt that festered in his chest like lead. 

“Your father taught you to stand up for what is right, for what you believe in.” Theon stated. “Do you believe that Joffrey is the one true King of Westeros and that he deserves to go unpunished?” Theon asked him. 

“No, I don’t.” Robb replied. 

“There you go,” Theon said, “Besides, you are the most honorable man I know. You’ve got a strong head on your shoulders and a great set of leaders on your council, if you can’t win this war, no one can.” 

“What would I do without you Theon?’ Robb asked, chuckling as he shook his head. 

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to bed your wife nearly as well.” Theon laughed which earned him a punch to the shoulder from Robb who was grinning from ear to ear. 

“I’ve missed this.” Robb said, a smile still on his lips as he turned his focus back onto the fire. 

“Me too.” 

For another hour, Theon and Robb sat in front of that fire, laughing and talking, the only ones still awake in the camp as the stars shined above them. As their bonfire finally died down to dull embers, Robb finally stood, handing his mug to Theon. 

“Well, I guess it’s finally time for me to go to bed.” He said, stretching out his back. 

“I should probably do the same, we have another long ride tomorrow.” Theon stated, standing up as well. The two of them lingered for a moment before Robb pulled Theon into a hug. They stood embraced for a moment or two before Robb pulled back, a soft smile lingering on his lips. 

“Goodnight, brother.” 

“Goodnight, Robb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow haha I finally wrote and uploaded something!! sorry for the unexpected hiatus, I suck at sticking to a schedule. I worked every day this summer and now im back in school but I'm slowly regaining my motivation so (tentative) yay!


	31. Sansa VIII

As chaos finally began to grip the Realm, Highgarden seemed to be unaffected. While news traveled fast to them, it didn’t seem to really take hold. The news of Myrcella and Robb’s wedding reached them within a days time and then the fact that the Northern army was already marching down South to reinforce the Riverlands as Tywin Lannister made camp at Harrenhal and Lannister troops ravaged the surroundings came on its heels. Even with such monumental revelations, Highgarden didn’t lift a finger. Mostly due to the fact that the halls of the castle were empty, most of the elite residence were away in Storm’s End dealing with Renly. 

For Sansa, this meant Highgarden had become a true sanctuary for her where she was allowed to blossom fully. Her conquest of politics had continued to the point that Willas even allowed her to sit in on his daily meetings with his father and advisors, telling him of the struggles of the common folk and of the perils of beyond. She never spoke in the meetings, she simply sat and listened as her husband came up with plans and strategies for each problem announced to him. It reminded her dearly of her childhood and of her father. Each time Ned held council, he would pick a different one of his children to sit in with him as he lent out soldiers, supplies and good will. Even if she didn’t appreciate it back then, Sansa now looked back with a mix of nostalgia and pain for those forgotten times. 

Allowing her to sit in on council wasn't the only thing Willas indulged her in. He spoiled her day in and day out. One morning he woke her up with a little box that had a necklace inside. The chain was delicate with a silver wolf wearing a crown of golden roses. She nearly lept into his arms and covered his face with kisses after she opened the box. Another morning he took her down to the stables and gifted her his most gentle and well trained mare who was the color of honey. Sansa road her new mount around the stables to the cheers of the stable hands and Willas, a smile on her face the entire time. 

Material items weren’t the only presents Willas gave her. It was the stolen kisses in the early dawn light, the secret hand holding under the table at the council meetings and family meals, the hands dragging through her auburn locks and down her back, his finger tips memorizing the contours of her body. He was gentle and loving with her, each touch of his lips or hands was thoroughly thought out and executed with care. Sansa returned this favour, she would run her hands down his back, massage his shoulders after dinner when they would sit out on their balcony as they watched the the dying sun slip away. Each night she grew bolder with her kisses and wandering hands. She had found if she sat on his lap with her robe at at her waist and her hair long and wild, that drove Willas crazy. Combine that with soft yet heavy kisses and hands that wandered down his chest, Sansa was figuring out how to play her husband like a harp. 

That morning, Sansa woke before her husband, the world outside still dark yet the birds of the gardens were starting their morning song. Sansa stretched out her back before rolling out of her shared featherbed where she pulled on her silk robe, tying it at her waist. She wandered over to her wardrobe, pulling out a dress of emerald silk with a long flowing skirt and shorter sleeves that stopped at her elbows. Along the bodice there were silver leaves and vines. Sansa easily slipped on the dress, adding in a silver belt at her waist and the necklace Willas had gifted her sat in the hollow of her throat. She then sat at her vanity where Lady was lying near and she began to brush out her auburn locks and pull it into one long braid that sat over her shoulder. Just as she finished, Willas rose from his slumber, sitting up straight and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Good morning, my love.” Sansa greeted him from her vanity. He looked up and over at her and then his face turned a slight pink. 

“You look….” Willas paused for a moment, his face growing a darker shade of pink, “lovely.” He breathed out, a smile slipping onto his lips. 

“Thank you, darling.” Sansa smiled, her own cheeks tinted pink. As Willas followed the same routine, servants came in, dropping off breakfast before quickly departing. Both of them sat in across from each other as they worked through a breakfast of berries, eggs with spinach and goat cheese, soft croissants and warm tea. 

“Any plans besides sitting in on council, my love?” Willas asked as he spread blackberry jam onto his croissant.

“Tea with your grandmother in the afternoon but besides that I don’t have anything set in stone.” Sansa replied as she stuffed a fork full of eggs into her mouth. 

“She’s still being kind to you, yes?” Willas asked, a skeptical look on his face. 

“As kind as Lady Olenna can be.” Sansa said with a smile to which Willas chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I know she enjoys your company, even if she doesn’t say so.” He said as he took a sip of his tea, the steam thick in the morning air. From then on, they ate in a gentle silence as the sun rose above the horizon and bathed the earth in gold. By the time they were finished with their breakfast, the sky was a deep blue with rays of reds, pinks and oranges strewn across the clouds. Willas stood from his seat with a sigh. 

“Well, I have to get going my love, Highgarden requires my presence.” Willas said with a sad smile before he wandered over, placing a kiss on the top of Sansa’s head. “I’ll see you in a few hours for council, my dear.” Willas then grabbed his cane from the vanity before he left for his morning duties. Sansa sighed, stretching out her back before slipping on a pair of shoes and signaling to Lady, who laid stretched out underneath the table hoping to get food, to follow suit. 

Girl and beast walked side by side out of the castle for the gardens. The sun was hiding behind the clouds as Sansa walked through the gardens, past dozens of bushes and trees filled with flowers, past little streams of fish and frogs until she came upon one of her favorite spots. In a little corner of one of the gardens there was an old willow tree, with leaves that wept so low that they tickled the grass below. Sansa eagerly kicked off her shoes before stepping into the grass and moving under the willow tree. Laying down in the grass, Lady followed suit as the long leaves of the willow cast a shadow over them, a veil of green that helped to cast out the world beyond. With the soft grass beneath her, Sansa closed her eyes and simply took a breath, allowing herself to find peace in that moment. Even in the empty Highgarden, the world around Sansa didn’t stop moving. Everything seemed so long ago when in reality she’d only been married for a month. If being married for a month felt so long, then it felt as if it had been years since she had seen the great grey walls of Winterfell. A melancholy settled over Sansa like a cloud and suddenly her thoughts were spinning. 

Not even a year ago Sansa had left on an early morning to come down South. Robb had snowflakes in his hair, and her mother had seemed to age twenty years in a day after Bran’s fall. The sun was barely over the horizon as they marched away from Winterfell, away from her home. That trip down South had seemed like a dream. She spent hours on horseback with her brother and Myrcella Baratheon. The three of them formed a pack, wandering off course to explore the vast expanse of world around them. 

Kings Landing had turned into Sansa nightmare. The pale red walls of the Keep had once been her dreams but soon she found that the only thing those walls held for her was loneliness and a vicious prince boiling in his own jealousy and rage. Her brother and new found friend spent their hours enamored with each other while she was left to her own devices for the most part. The day she departed for Highgarden had been filled with nerves but the good kind, the ones where it feels like dozens of butterflies in your belly instead of the pit of horror opening up in your chest, cavernous and vast. 

Highgarden welcomed her with open arms. Everyone was beautiful and funny with charming smiles. Willas had so easily swept her off her feet the moment she had arrived and for a day or two, Sansa thought everything could have been right. 

Then the ravens came. They came quick and numerous, all telling tales of her father's death, her brothers escape and the horror plaguing the realm. 

And in that moment, beneath the willow tree under a canopy of green, Sansa felt lost. Her father would never see her married, or meet her husband or future children. The last time she saw him he was waving to her, smiling sadly as she rode into the sun for a future far beyond him. She never got to grieve him truly, nor did anyone else. He always supported his children no matter what, her dreams of story book tales, Arya’s goals to defy their mother as much as possible, or Rickon’s wish to be more wolf than child. 

Then her mother, her poor mother had seen one of her children in a sickbed while her eldest two left with her husband for the South. Her mother had mourned her love while trying to maintain control of herself, of her people. Even when Sansa left, her mother looked tired and aged, she could only image the turmoil on her face now. 

Suddenly, her thoughts flew from her mother to her siblings. 

She thought of Robb, god’s Robb was so young. Only a year older than her and he was off fighting a war. They had been so close as children, nearly inseparable and even as they grew they confided in each other, still the best of friends. Now her brother was a married man and was commanding thousands of soldiers to fight for a free North and to avenge their murdered father. 

Suddenly her thoughts spun off to Arya. Her little sister had never been good with change, she was dreading everyone leaving and now some of them wouldn’t return. Her and her sister had never seen eye to eye but Sansa would give the entire world to just hug her sister. Then there was Bran, forever crippled. He had dreams of becoming a soldier, of being just like Robb but now he couldn’t even rise from bed on his own. And then there was baby Rickon, just five and he’d been abandoned by his parents, his eldest siblings and was left to freeze in the North. 

Sansa had taken those days for granted, always dreaming of knights, of ladies, of tales of valor. None of those were real, at least not in the South. Sansa would give anything to step foot in Winterfell again, to see her family, to feel snow against her skin and wind through her hair. Highgarden was comfortable, pleasant and peaceful but it wasn't home. 

When Sansa finally came to again, the sun was straight above in the sky and a wind was blowing. She sat up from the grass and took in a deep breath before finding the strength to stand again, to slip on her shoes and to walk steady to council. As she walked, she dried the tears etched onto her cheeks and rose her head up high. The past was behind her, seemingly very far behind her, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from giving up on the future. 

The Council Room was in a sanctioned off corner of the Great Hall, an intimate room with a table to seat 8 and tall windows, frosted and dim. Sansa walked in just as everyone was taking their seats. That meeting was almost full, a seat next to Willas empty for her. She quickly came in and sat down, just as she was pulling in her chair, council began. 

To her right at the head of the table was Willas, her lovely husband sat with a stack of papers in front of him and a quill in hand as the people around the table eagerly talked at him. Across from her was her good-grandmother, Olenna with a bored look on her face, her eyes ready to roll at the drop of a pin. Next was Mace Tyrell, his fat fingers adorned with jewels drumming the table as he watched on, an anger stewing in him already. Then there was the Maester of Highgarden, Lomys, an old man with a full head of white hair who was telling Willas that they needed to balance what they were sending out to the soldiers at Storm’s End and what they were keeping for the rest of the peoples. Next to Lomys was Igon Vyrwel, a tall man with a head of thick black hair and piercing green eyes who was the head of the guards, waiting his turn to report any suspicious or particularly interesting things uncovered by the guardsmen. 

Finally, Sansa snapped back into it as Willas set down his quill with a sigh. 

“Alright, we’ll make sure all of our reserves are stocked for both home and on the front as well as make sure the farmers nears Cider Hall have better defenses against bandits.” Willas read from his notes before looking up. “What’s next?” 

Mace Tyrell cleared his throat loudly, dragging everyone's attention to him as he pulled out a letter from his pocket and unfolded it. 

“This is a letter from House Florent.” Mace declared. Olenna quickly rolled her eyes and made a noise of annoyance at her son. 

“What do those fools want from us now?” Olenna complained yet Mace kept talking. 

“House Florent seemed to be concerned with the things that Stannis Baratheon seems to be plotting.” Mace said with a grin, as if he was winning some game. “Selyse says that Stannis is enamored with this Red Woman and that she’s given him a plan that will “sway the tides of this war” 

“Mace, you idiot, quit grinning like this is a winning piece.” Olenna snapped at him before ripping the letter out of his hand before looking to Willas. 

“This letter means that Stannis is planning something and something bad. We need send word to Storm’s End that Renly and everyone else is in danger.” Olenna said, a darkness in her eyes as she glared back at her son. 

“Danger?” Mace repeated, like one of those trained birds from the Summer Isles. Olenna smacked her son’s shoulder, anger spilling all over her face. 

“Yes you dolt! Danger! If Renly is in danger, that means your one and only daughter you say you care so much about is in danger!” Olenna yelled as Mace’s face ran pale, the grin that he had so triumphantly worn just moments earlier was gone. 

“If they’re in danger then we need to tell them, get them home before anything happens!” Mace said, fear seeping into his features. 

“We can’t send it by raven, what if someone intercepts it?” Maester Lomys finally spoke up, worry etched on his face. 

“Well who do we trust to take it there? Everyone we trust is already in Storm’s End!” Mace argued, waving his hands in the air exasperatedly. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Sansa had spoken up without thought, without filter. She simply just spoke. Everyone went silent and looked over at Sansa who had just begun to weigh the consequences of what she just said. 

“You can’t go!” Willas argued, a fear flashing into his eyes. 

“Why not? She’s a fully grown woman!” Mace argued back which only heated up Willas more. 

“She is my wife and I care about her safety!” Willas argued, his face red hot with anger as he sat on the edge of his seat. 

“I’m sure she can handle herself, she can’t be all air in that head of hers.” Mace snorted to which Willas shot up from his seat, papers flying to the ground and he opened his mouth to yell but Olenna cut him off. 

“Enough!” She bellowed, glaring at both her son and grandson before looking over at Sansa, a calmer look on her face. “Sansa, are you prepared to ride all the way to Storm’s End to deliver this information?” Olenna asked and Sansa nodded. 

“Of course. I mean, who else is there? You trust me, at least I hope you do.” Sansa said with a bit of a nervous smile on her face, the tension in the room was thick and unwavering. 

“It’s settled then, on the morrow Sansa will head for Storm’s End.” Olenna said, sitting back and crossing her arms. 

“You will ride to Storm’s End and then you will immediately come back, do you understand?” Willas asked her, the look in his eyes struck a fear into Sansa, a darkness was settled in them like she had never seen before and it seeped into her core. 

“Yes.” Sansa said breathlessly, her words nearly caught in her throat. 

“This meeting is over.” Willas said, gathering his papers and quickly exiting the hall, a whirlwind of chaos behind him. 

Sansa was fighting back tears by the time Lady Olenna showed up to their afternoon tea. They had their tea on a covered balcony overlooking the gardens. A singer stood nearby, plucking a sweet melody on a harp as a sweet berry tea sat in a cup in front of her as little finger tarts and pastries sat in front of her. 

“By the Seven, try not to look so grim, girl, this isn’t the North.” Olenna said with a bit of a chuckle as she sat across from Sansa. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa squeaked out, still struggling to hold back tears. Olenna sighed before she took a long sip of her tea. 

“You’re not having second thoughts about going to Storm’s End, are you?” Olenna asked, a bit of real concern sprinkling its way into her tone. Sansa simply shook her head and took a deep breath before looking her good-grandmother. 

“He’s mad at me.” She whispered, just saying the words paining her heart, almost making the tears in her eyes spill over. 

“Who, Willas?” Olenna asked to which Sansa gave a meek nod. Sansa had looked down in her own self pity and nearly jumped out of her skin when Olenna let out a loud laugh, shaking her head as she did so. 

“Willas isn’t mad at you, child.” Olenna said, slapping her hand on the table as she continued to chuckle. “By the time you see him tonight, he’ll be falling at your feet to apologize to you.” 

“But...at council he seemed so…” Sansa was in a daze, confused and conflicted as Olenna kept that smile on her face. Sansa could only remember how enraged Willas seemed, how cold his words felt and how the moment he left, a pit of despair opened up in her chest. 

“Oh, that was just him and Mace trying to outdo each other.” Olenna flapped a hand towards her in dismissal, “Willas likes to think he’s all Hightower but he’s got some of his father in him whether he likes it or not.” 

“So...he’s not...upset with me?” Sansa asked, still confused. Olenna simply shook her head with a bit of a smile. 

“Not at all, now, eat some of these pastries.” Olenna shoved the plate towards Sansa and she took one gingerly, biting into the crumbly bottom, the sweet cream and the tart blackberry on top.  
“Willas tends to think he’s all books, maps and music like he’s Rhaegar Targaryen reborn but he’s still got his father’s stubbornness in him. It doesn’t help that I may have ignited some fire in him and I think you’ve got something to do with this as well.” Olenna commented, to which Sansa gave her a puzzled look. 

“Me?” Sansa asked as she finished the second bite of her tart, reaching for her cup of tea. 

“Yes you, child,” Olenna said, “Even since you’ve been here Willas has been more confident, more sure of himself. Something about you pulls him out of the fog.” 

Sansa sat back for a minute, taking all of it in as Olenna snapped her fingers for a refill of her tea. Sansa then leaned forward, a serious look on her face filled with confidence. 

“Tell me what I need to know about Storm’s End.” 

Even after the servers took the trays of tarts and pastries away, even once the tea ran dry, Sansa and Lady Olenna sat as they talked of Storm’s End. Sansa was told what to expect from a camp like that filled with soldiers, how to talk to Renly and his council who Olenna thought were far too arrogant for their own good, that she needed to give this information in private with as little spiders around as possible. When she left, the sun was well below the horizon, the sky a dull blue as night began to slip over Highgarden. 

Sansa found Willas sitting at their shared dining table, in front of a still steaming dinner, with a look of utter defeat on his face. Sansa slipped off her shoes before wandering over to her husband. He looked at her with sad eyes as she approached but she kept her smile soft. She cupped his face in her hands as he took in a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against the palm of her hand and Sansa leaned down to kiss the top of his head. Willas moved his head and kissed the palm of Sansa’s hand, he kissed each of her fingers then her knuckles, all the way to her wrist before he looked up at her and Sansa’s face was a dark red, her breath slow and shallow. 

“I know I should have controlled my temper, it wasn't fair for you to see me like that.” Willas mumbled, shaking his head but Sansa just sighed softly, a smile creeping against her lips again as she ran her hands through his hair. 

“Oh my sweet Willas.” Sansa said as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands running up and down her sides as she moved to sit down on his lap. 

“What can I do to make this up to you, Sansa?” Willas asked as she sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, his planted firmly on her hips. Sansa felt a heat begin to bubble in her stomach, a giddiness was building in her chest and Sansa simply leaned forward and whispered in Willas’ ear. 

“Bed me.” 

“Are you sure, my love?” Willas asked, a slight worry in his eyes but behind that was a hunger. 

“Yes, now, please Willas.” That was all she had to say and moments later, her dress was on the wooden floor, like a pool of water as her husband’s hands and mouth wandered her, sending shivers down her spine, heating her skin until she felt like she was on fire, her mind foggy her only thoughts were how good it felt when Willas kissed her down her chest, his tongue swirling patterns on her breasts that caused moans to fall from her lips, fly into the air like a guttural, ancient yet lovely song. 

It wasn’t long before one of his hands was in between her lower lips, making long, soft strides up and down, turning her into a moaning mess, goose pimples up and down her skin as the fog in her mind cleared for a moment, a fire churning in her belly as one of his skilled fingers slipped in and a sweet cry erupted from her, a pressure building as her legs began to shake, more whimpers and cries leaving her mouth as Willas moaned along with her. 

“By the gods, sweet Sansa.” He groaned, eyes half lidded in his own pleasure, his fingers working like that of a harp player, plucking at her, curling to create such a sweet song. When he pulled out, she nearly told him off but then he found the spot right at the top of her and suddenly, she felt a white hot flash wash over her, the fire in her belly exploding into down right ecstasy. She threw her head back, a loud cry leaving her as her whole body shook, a blush raging on her cheeks, down her neck and settling on her chest while she rode out the euphoric feeling coursing through her veins. When her mind cleared once more, she was panting, her arms and legs shaking as she opened her eyes to look upon her husband. He stared at her like she was one of those goddess’s from Essos, enchanting and encapsulating. 

“Sansa,” Willas panted out, his chest heaving in slow, sharp intervals. 

“Yes?” She breathed out, still trying to bring herself back down to earth. 

“To the bed.” He said sternly to which Sansa simply smiled.

Both of them leaned on each other for help as they stood and were able to wander to the bed, Sansa making quick work of Willas’ clothes as they went until he was on the edge of their shared mattress and she once more was on top of him. 

“Willas, make me your wife.” She told him as his hands settled once more on her hips. 

“You are my wife.” 

“Then make me your lover.”

With that, he guided himself within her and she felt a sharp pain burst within and the cry that left her mouth was not of pleasure but she tried to push it aside. If all that came before this made her a mess of shaking limbs and frantic cries, why shouldn’t this? 

“I’m so sorry, Sansa, my love.” Mumbled Willas, sorrowful and guilty but she just shook her head, leading herself down the length of his member despite the sharp pricks of pain. When all of him was sheathed within, she stopped, her eyes fluttered closed as she slowly allowed herself to become accustomed to him. She felt the twitch of his hips beneath her, heard his cries despite how hard he tried to bite them back but she simply sat there until the pain was no longer and she allowed herself to set the rhythm. 

Something in the back of her mind nagged at her, the teachings of her Septa told her that a good wife simply laid beneath her husband and hoped it didn’t hurt as bad as she’d been told. Septa Mordane had warned her about wonton thoughts, that only brothel women enjoyed sex with their husbands. By the gods, her Septa was the stupidest woman alive, how couldn’t someone love this. 

Their hips seemed to move in perfect unison, their cries matched together as they both lost all concern for those outside their doors and windows, too caught up in their own pleasure. The heat within Sansa’s belly began to rise once more and the roll of her hips became more frantic as the pleasure in her core built up quicker, wanting to explode sooner. Her eyes opened for a moment to gaze upon her husband and Willas’s mouth was agape, his hands gripping onto her hips for dear life as pleasure coursed through him as well. It was at the same moment their ecstasy hit them, their cries loud and true as the same fire ripped through Sansa, sending gooseflesh from her thighs to her fingertips and she felt a warmth fill her. She didn’t know how long it lasted, seconds, minutes, days but she did know that when it was over, they were both gasping for air like fish out of water, their limbs shaking as if they were left out in the cold. When they both finally calmed, Willas leaned up and kissed Sansa’s forehead. 

“I love you.” She whispered. 

“I love you too.” He mumbled back. 

After that, Willas fetched them robes before both of them crawled into their feather bed, wool and fur blankets heavy on them as Sansa easily cuddled up to her husband, her head resting on his chest and habitually Willas ran his hands through her auburn locks while his other hand ran down her back, tracing intricate patterns against her porcelain skin. 

“Are you sure you want to go to Storm's End?” Willas asked softly, his eyes already fluttered shut. 

“I’m positive, I talked to your grandmother about it.” Sansa commented as she ran her hand over Willas’ chest. 

“Of course you did,” Willa said which a hearty chuckle. “I swear, you’re getting closer to Olenna as each day passes.” 

“She has some good things to say.” Sansa retorted to which Willas sighed contently. 

“Promise me you’ll be safe.” Willas said pleadingly. Sansa looked up at her husband and gave him a soft smile. 

“I promise.” She whispered out, kissing his cheek. 

“Goodnight, Sansa.” 

“Goodnight, Willas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it’s been a hot minute but I’m back!
> 
> I wanna take this time to say thank you, this fic is now a year old and I never could have dreamed of the support I have for this fic, for every kudos and comment you leave, it motivates me to continue. 
> 
> I know I have a problem with abandoning this fic for periods of time but I wrote out a lot of in depth plot so hopefully there will be some more chapters very soon. 
> 
> Thanks for the support and stick around for more!


	32. Catelyn I

It was dark that morning, the clouds above them thick and heavy as they blacked out the rising sun but Catelyn knew they were moving northward, unlike her. 

The Northern soldiers were camped out between Oldstones and Fairmarket. The plan was for Robb and a group of 2000 soldiers to go execute an ambush outside of Whispering Woods in an attempt to draw Tywin Lannister towards the Rock so her brothers troops could trap the Old Lion from behind. While Catelyn’s son was off trapping lions in their den, she was off to negotiate in Storm’s End with Renly and most of the Tyrell children. 

Yet for now, it was time for her to see her son off to battle. She had woken early, dread sitting in her stomach like lead as she got dressed in dark blue velvet that morning, her auburn hair sprinkled with grey was pulled back into a braid and she donned a cloak of dark fur before heading out of her tent. 

She stood watching soldiers pack bags of supplies, sharpen last minute weapons and say farewells. She spotted her good-daughter easily. Myrcella stood out like a sore thumb amongst dozens of troops, clad in a gown of dark forest green. The golden girl spotted her and quickly rushed over, a slightly desperate look on her face. Catelyn had grown to like Myrcella, she saw a lot of herself in the girl. Newly married while a war wages on and her husband is marching off for battle. The only difference was that Myrcella was here, not locked away behind stone walls left to wonder. 

“Good morning, Myrcella.” Catelyn addressed as the girl came within arms reach of her, “How did you sleep?” 

“I wish I could say I slept well but alas, I tossed and turned most of the night.” Myrcella admitted and Cat could see the tiredness in her eyes, coupled with an anxious dread. 

“Everytime Ned left, I was the same way.” Catelyn told her, a cold air rushing between the two at the mention of her now dead husband, his memory still always plaguing her, always swirling at the back of her mind. Cat could feel Myrcella tense up at the thought of Ned, not only in her pity for Cat but at the thought that Robb might follow in his father’s footsteps in more ways than one. Catelyn opened her mouth to say something but was quickly cut off by Robb’s approach. 

God’s, he looked so young and so old all at once, Cat couldn’t help think. He stood in that dark dawn already in his steel and leather armor, a black fur cape around his shoulders. For a moment, Catelyn felt like he was a boy playing knight, not a King about to lead his first battle. This isn’t at all what Cat had wanted for her beloved son. He was supposed to be older than she was by the time he was even a Knight, at least 20 by the time he held the title of Ser. Her son was supposed to be married with children for some time before he was ever even Lord of Winterfell. Yet here he stood now, in leather and steel, with a sword at his hip and the title of King of the North held high over his head. 

“Come now mother, try not to look like I’m marching to my grave.” Robb said, a bit of a playful smile coming across his lips but she could see the nerves deep in him, how much like his father he was, trying his hardest to bury his nerves. 

“I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t sleep well.” Catelyn excused herself, forcing a soft smile onto her face. 

“I don’t think any of us did.” Robb commented, looking solemnly around at his infantry, a worry starting to seep into his eyes but he was able to hold it back. 

“You need to be going.” Catelyn said, she knew he was getting anxious waiting around, even if it was for a short while. 

“I know,” Robb said sadly before clearing his throat and turning fully to face her. “Try not to worry so much, mother, you do have to leave at dusk.” He said, a knowing look on his face. 

“I’ll try my hardest,” Cat promised, “Please, come back safely.” Cat told her son to which he pulled her into a hug. He nearly engulfed her, since when had her son grown so big? They lingered for a moment together, praying that this wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other before they broke apart. 

“Travel safe, mother.” Robb said with a squeeze of her shoulder before he moved onto his wife who stood next to Catelyn. 

Cat could see the fear in Myrcella’s eyes and the fact that she was holding back tears. Catelyn saw a melancholy in Robb’s eyes as well, she knew he didn’t want to leave his wife here but what choice did he have. 

“Promise me, you’ll be safe.” Myrcella was able to choke out, her hands shaking as Robb held them in his. 

“The moment I can, I will mount a horse and ride all the way back to you.” Robb said to her before kissing her forehead, lingering for a few moments before pulling back and addressing the both of them. 

“I’ll be back in no more than a fortnight. As soon as I get back I’ll send you a letter, mother.” Robb told her to which she nodded before he sighed. “I’ll be back soon.” was the last he said before her son turned on his heel and marched off for his first battle. Myrcella instantly turned to her, tears on the very edge, ready to spill over at any second. 

“How about I meet you for afternoon tea in my tent?” Catelyn offered, a soft smile on her face to which Myrcella nodded eagerly. 

“I would love that.” Myrcella said, forcing as much of a smile as she could muster, “I’ll see you then.” 

With that, Catelyn was then off to finish packing. As soon as night fell, her and a group of four Stark soldiers would head off for Storm’s End to begin negotiations with Renly. Her main goal was to appeal to the Tyrell’s all gathered there to help sway Renly into joining an alliance with them since Stannis was moving more into a solo position with no alliances truly under his belt. Her tent was cold by the time she got back to it to which she sighed and simply moved on to packing what little she needed. It would take her a little less than a week to reach Storm’s End, they had to move fast not to deal with any of the Lannister troops. 

Catelyn grabbed a leather bag from her trunk and began to fold away clothes inside, the habitual movements calming her physically yet her mind was still running around in circles. Her thoughts always came back to Robb. How would he react when he killed his first man, that blood on his own hands? What would happen to her son when he had a moment of clarity on that battlefield as he stood there drenched in blood, sweat and mud, surrounded by the bodies of his and his enemies soldiers, how would her sweet, gentle, funny Robb react? By the old gods and the new, she thought, how did I let my son come to this, to be so young and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Catelyn had to sit down, her head was reeling and she thought she might throw up. She hung her head low and took shallow breaths as the taste of bile was ever present on her tongue, her throat tight and hot as her stomach churned over on itself. 

Nothing had turned out like what Catelyn had imagined for herself either. She had already been through her war, her hardship why was she so cursed to continue suffering? Shipped off at nineteen, married to a Northern man who could barely look at her then left in Riverrun with a babe and a constant worry that her husband would never come home. Yet he did, and for the next sixteen years Catelyn was able to bury her deeper fears and worries. Instead she fretted over her children, always making sure they were clean and presentable, her dreams for them were peaceful and perfect. 

Catelyn wasn't never supposed to see another rebellion, another war, yet here she was. Her original family had been killed and separated and now her newest one was as well. Her husband was dead, her eldest son was declared a king and fighting a war bigger than himself. Her Sansa, her sweet and beautiful Sansa was shipped off to the South with a husband five years her senior, surrounded by strangers. Her wildest child Arya was now leading the North at eleven, at eleven Cat was still swimming in the rivers with her brother and sister, still playing with dolls and dreaming of knights. Then there were her youngest, Bran was crippled and struggling and baby Rickon was barely five, still clinging to her skirts and crying for her in the middle of the night. 

Catelyn spent the next hour crying by herself, her head cupped in her hands as the tears flowed freely. By the time she was cleaned up, she had little time to pack before she needed to host Myrcella so she quickly finished stuffing her clothes, a bit of gold and some parchment, ink and quill into her bag. Catelyn then quickly cleaned her face, straightened her hair and clothes then carried on as who she needed to be. 

Myrcella arrived in just as bad of condition as Catelyn was in. The young girl’s eyes were red, tear streaks still visible down her cheeks and the hair she had so beautifully worn in loose curse that morning were pulled back into a tight, short braid. Catelyn was seated at her table, a warm tea and a plate of croissants in front of them. Myrcella didn’t hesitate to sit down across from her and grab a cup of tea which she eagerly began to drink from. The two sat in a tense silence before Myrcella finally broke it. 

“How do I do it?” Myrcella asked, a desperate, pleading look in her eyes. 

“Do what, my dear?” 

“Survive it all.” 

Catelyn sat down her cup of tea and took in a deep breath. Here was this poor, sweet girl who had been told from birth that she was going to be queen one day yet no one told her how to truly be one. 

“I don’t know,” Catelyn admitted, “I truly don’t, Myrcella. I was kept so far away from it all, locked up in a tower.” Catelyn couldn’t help but pity the young woman in front of her. She was so close to the horror of all of it and she couldn’t escape. 

“Try your hardest not to dwell on what’s happening in places beyond. Focus on what's happening in the here and now. Go help patch wounds or organize supplies or write letters to other lord’s asking for help. Stay busy.” Catelyn advised her to which Myrcella nodded. 

“That….that helps.” Myrcella said, looking down into her tea cup, “Thank you.” 

“I know it’s hard, and that no one ever told you how to deal with this but,” Catelyn straightened up, taking in another deep breath, “I have no doubt you’ll be able to get through this, Myrcella.” Catelyn told her. 

From then on, they only stuck to comfortable topics, the both of them even laughing a few time before they knew it, dusk had settled and it was nearing time for Catelyn to leave. Her and Myrcella had a heartfelt goodbye then Cat mounted her horse and then she began to ride towards Storm’s End. The thought of going that far South made her nervous but something made her want to go there, to help negotiate war efforts and support her son’s war. By the time night had set and her group had traveled a few miles Catelyn had a fire burning in her belly, a determination she hadn’t felt in years, and it excited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys thanks for reading! I've started writing a lot within the past week in an attempt to backlog some chapters so I can have a continuous supply for awhile which means uploads at least once a week! lucky for you guys! In regards to the next few chapters all I'm gonna say is.....be prepared...


	33. Myrcella VII

A week had passed since her husband and her good-mother rode off for battle and negotiation, leaving Myrcella alone. Some comfort came from her handmaids of Alise and Maege, especially the former of the two who would often eat meals with Myrcella, offering some solace with her company. 

Yet it was easy enough to tell that the Golden Princess was restless, uneasy. She slept little at night yet dozed off constantly throughout the hours of the day. Her hands were always shaking, her fingers constantly fidgeting with themselves. The first few days of her solitude she wandered the camps, trying to listen to her good-mothers advice of staying busy but Myrcella found it difficult to do so. Most things were already being taken care of in the camp and the only place she could be of use, in war council, was cut off to her. Without Robb to support her, some of the oldest Northern Lord’s didn’t like a girl giving them battle advice. 

Instead she wandered the camps, trying to keep her anxieties at bay as she chatted with soldiers who were surprisingly charmed by her. At least she could provide good will.

Camp wandering only lasted a few days before Myrcella’s doubts got the best of her and she chose instead to huddle inside her tent and wait. Yet waiting is what broke her the most. She tried to read, tried to do needlework, to write, anything to distract herself but it was useless. Her mind refused to focus on anything but Robb, her loving husband who was off fighting. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him, smiling at her. How it killed her not to have him beside her. 

A full week after Robb left, Myrcella seemed to crumble. Two days she had gone without sleep, her fears festering in her head as her solitude and anxieties were coming to a climax. Alise would come in from time to time, bringing her meals and news, most of which was that no more information was coming in from the front. Part of Myrcella understood, it was a battle after all, one that had to be fought with stealth and deception. The other part of her wanted to scream each time Alise smiled sadly at her and said “I’m sorry, my Queen, no word from the line today.” 

That night, it all came to a finale. Myrcella sat in her tent at the small wooden table, the other chair so painfully empty. The bags under her eyes were dark and heavy, her hair was flat and greasy and she’d worn the same dress for two days. She was staring blankly at the open book in front of her, her eyes skimming words yet her mind was running in circles. 

Myrcella was never prepared for this. From her birth, she was forever guarded from the true horror of leading. Her mother was always paranoid, keeping most of the world hidden from her. Never allowed to play with other children, always barred in the castle with her books, her Septa and her brothers. Her father was distant but when he was there, he did nothing but shower her with love and gifts, as if Robert Baratheon thought dresses in every color and another kitten could make Myrcella forget all of the nights he never came to comfort her, to wipe away her tears or kiss her bruises. Both parents, distant and paranoid, caught up in their own worlds never had time for her, or at least as much time as she so desperately needed. No, that came from her grandfather and her uncle. 

Lord Tywin Lannister looked upon his grandchildren and picked Myrcella to pass his knowledge upon. He told her that her eldest brother was too arrogant, too much under their mother’s thumb while her youngest brother was just that, young. From her ninth name day and on, her grandfather let her sit with him once a week where he would lecture her on finances, war, court negotiations and anything he deemed important enough to take time out of his day to talk about. He was always surprised how quickly Myrcella picked up his lessons, how easily she grasped the concepts laid in front of her. The Old Lion may not have smiled much but the few moments of praise Myrcella gained from him lit her up. 

Then there was her uncle, Jaime Lannister knew Myrcella better than anyone else in King’s Landing. He knew what her favorite colors were, her favorite songs and poems. He knew how to do her hair just the way she liked it or how she only drank tea with honey in it. Anytime she got into a fight with Joffrey or was shooed away by her father or anything else that caused her some sort of emotional turmoil, her Uncle Jaime always knew where to find her, how to comfort her, to make her smile again and keep the tears at bay. He was more of a father to her than Robert Baratheon ever could have been.

Now, both Tywin and Jaime Lannister were the enemy, the one every Northern man hated. The Kingslayer and the Old Lion were nothing more than targets, pieces who needed to be taken down in order to win the game. Her beloved grandfather and uncle were now on the other side of history. The two people who made her childhood worth anything were now her enemy, how could they not be? They wanted nothing more than to destroy the North, destroy her husband and essentially, destroy her. 

Myrcella slammed her book closed and pushed it off the table as tears began to run down her face like rivers. No one told her the truth of what it meant to lead, to lead. Her mother told her she would have a beautiful castle, beautiful children and not a care in the world. Her father told her if she was kind and pretty, she could win over anyone while her grandfather was more critical, told her she needed to manage her people, her coin and her armies. No one once told her that she would be sitting in a tent, alone, waiting on whether or not her husband succeeded, if he was going to ride back to her on a horse or in a coffin while hundreds of soldiers sat outside drinking to forget their inevitable demise. To be a Queen, she needed to lie to win her way, to use people’s lives as bargaining chips, to see her friends, her family, people she’d known all her life as nothing more than pawns in a game. She needed to use deceit and tricks to lure people in and trap them in more ways than one. Being a ruler was rough, dirty, harsh and no one had ever prepared Myrcella for that. 

Myrcella quickly lurched from her seat for her cleaned chamber pot where she proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach violently as sobs wracked her body, her stomach churning violently as her thoughts still ran wild. When she was finally finished vomiting, Myrcella fell to the floor, laying on her back as the world spun, tears blurring her vision. She couldn’t control herself anymore, she simply laid on the floor and cried, nothing was there to hold her back anymore as she fell into her darkness. Thoughts of death and destruction filled her mind, images of Robb, her Robb covered in blood and dirt, laying amongst hundreds of other bodies, unknown, unnamed, and dead. There were crows circling above while others picked out eyeballs, fingers and chunks of flesh while a thin fog settled over a bloody, marred earth covered in corpses.

She should have never come with him, she should have told him she was going to stay in the North. Her expertise could have been advised through letter, through world of mouth before he left. She wanted nothing more than to be locked away in a castle, behind stone walls where there was more to distract herself with, more do than just sit and wait. She could be helping Arya organize support and supplies, she could be helping Bran with his studies, taking care of baby Rickon but instead she was here, so close to the horror of it all with nothing to do but think. 

“Myrcella” someone called and then moments later she was sitting up right, a hand rubbing her back as she held her head in her own hands, tears still freely failing. Her handmaiden Alise had come to see her and found her like that and suddenly, Myrcella felt an embarrassed blush creep up her neck. 

“I’m sorry, Alise, I must have…” Myrcella searched her brain, trying to look for an excuse, a scapegoat, “I’m not feeling well, something has upset my stomach.” It wasn't all a lie, something had in fact upset her stomach. 

“Please, your grace, I’m begging you, please sleep.” Alise stood, grabbing Myrcella’s arm and guiding her into bed. Myrcella didn’t fight it, she was in fact tired, she could feel the weight of her body as she laid in her feather bed, so warm and comfortable. 

“I’ll wake you as soon as we have news, my Princess.” Alise said, throwing the wool and fur blankets over her. 

“I’m not a Princess, I’m the Queen of the North.” Myrcella mumbled as sleep took hold of her and finally, let her rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....ur welcome...stay tuned for more


	34. Robb IX

Camp was dark when he got back, even his men who drank into the wee hours of the dawn were asleep in their tents when his horse road in, Grey Wind in stride with his stallion. Although he was sure that anyone who saw him would think he was raised from the dead. Robb Stark was covered from head to toe in blood, mud and sweat, most of the blood was not his and it was smeared on his cheeks, his forehead, all over his leather chestpiece and it coated his boots. His sword was still coated in blood, it dark and dried over the steel of the blade. 

To say that he was tired, was the understatement of the century. Robb felt an ache deep within his bones, every time he moved something else in his body lit ablaze with a white hot pain. When he dismounted his horse, he groaned as a sharp stab ricocheted up his spine. It took him a moment to subdue the throbbing in his back but when he did, he straightened up and made way for his tent, his direwolf by his side. 

When he threw back the curtain to his tent, he was finally able to let out a sigh relief before his wife rose up from her slumber, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

“Alise? Is that you? Any news yet?” Myrcella mumbled, her eyes still closed and heavy with sleep. 

“Myrcella.” was all he was able to muster yet her eyes shot open and for a moment, he saw an indescribable joy and then a horror at the state of him. Myrcella threw back the covers and nearly lept out of bed, just stopping short of leaping into his arms when she saw the state of his armor. 

“Robb…” She whispered out as her hand hovered above his armor, her fingers nearly touching the blood smeared all over him. “Did...did we win?” 

“Aye, we lured the Lannisters out of their camp at Riverrun with a small group of a few hundred.” Robb easily recounted the battle just mere hours before and he sat down in one of the wooden chairs next to the table. Myrcella simple stood, hovering above him as she stared at him with wide eyes that nearly glowed in the dark. 

“They never saw an ambush coming, they eagerly tried to slaughter our small group but we were able to surprise them, they were stuck with no way out, we surrounded them on all fronts. For every one man we lost, the Lannisters easily lost ten. We’ve taken control of their camps, their supplies, everything.” Robb said, it should have been a moment of triumph for him. This was his first battle and he was victor, so much so that his soldiers were already saying that their victory was greater than the one at the Field of Fire. This cemented him in history, he truly now was King of the North. Yet he ached both physically and emotionally. 

“That’s wonderful news, my love.” Myrcella was able to say quietly, a loving look on her face as she gazed upon him in the darkness. Yet Robb was on the verge of ultimate despair, his heart felt like it was going to wither away inside of his chest. 

“For the war, yes it is.” Robb muttered out as he moved to hold his head in his hands, his chest tightening and his stomach beginning to churn, his hands shaking like leaves in the wind. 

“What’s wrong, my love?” Myrcella whispered out as she ran her hands through his hair, despite the dirt, dust and blood caked in his auburn locks. 

“Theon Greyjoy is dead.” He was able to choke out as tears flooded his face and his chest burned with grief, anger, sorrow and pain. He heard Myrcella gasp but he couldn’t respond to it, he was too caught up in his own emotions. He could see it when he closed his eyes, the hundreds over soldiers around him, shouting in victory and screaming in pain. His sword dripping with crimson as he took sharp, hard breaths, his face was red hot, beading with sweat just like the rest of him even though a cool air was settled over the field. He had just slayed a Lannister man with a mace clutched in his hand, a sharp gash running right through his midsection. He had a moment of clarity amongst the chaos and he felt almost on top of the world, a tingle in his fingers as he gripped strong onto his hilt while he felt light, as if he was floating. Then he heard men screaming his name and he whipped around to see The Kingslayer sprinting for him, his golden armor glowing in the misty forest with his sword arched above his head with fury in his face. Robb didn’t have enough time to react, enough time to defend himself. 

And then Theon stepped in front of him to take a blow straight across the chest from Jaime Lannister, a blow that would have killed Robb had it hit him. He watched as his friend, his brother fall to the ground of the battlefield as Daryn Hornwood and the two Karstark sons began their fight with the Kingslayer, as they had come up behind him. Robb fell with him, yelling as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his best friend. 

The blood, Gods there was so much of it pouring from Theon’s chest, like an endless river of crimson. Robb held him in his arms, against his chest as his longtime friend struggled to breathe. Robb just hushed him, telling him he was going to be okay just like his mother had done when he upset or crying. There was blood on his hands but it didn’t stop him from running his hands through Theon’s hair as he rocked back and forth. Theon just smiled and held onto one of his hands, a bit of a chuckle rising from his lips as well as blood that spilled over. “You’ll always be my brother, Robb.” Theon was able to choke out, that foolish smile on his lips as the blood just kept coming and coming. Robb just shook his head, tears swelling in his eyes. “Of course, Theon, of course.” He said as he held his dying friend in his arms. 

The blood, so much blood, sticky and thick and warm, it was everywhere, all over the both of them. It was soaking into his pants, darkening the dew soaked grass beneath them. Robb’s hands presses messily through the thick crimson in an attempt to stop it as he sobbed. By the time Robb looked up at Theon’s face again, he was gone, his eyes glazed over, his breath stopped short. And then Robb screamed, he rose to his feet, pulled his swords into his hands, his heart racing in his chest as a vengeance and bloodlust came coursing through his veins. Robb pushed his way into the vanguard where it was the thickest and he took his revenge. Robb hacked off limbs, slashed open the chests of men’s and drank in their agonizing cries. In his wake, he left dozens of Lannister men dead on the ground. When the dust settled, the battle won, Robb had a moment of clarity and right then and there, on the battlefield surrounded by the bodies he cut down, he vomited, such disgust, such sorrow in his body made him do it. 

And here he was now, the King of the North sat in his bloodied armor in the silence of his tent and something in him broke. The floodgates burst open and Robb simply crumbled under the weight of it all. He fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around Myrcella’s waist and simply cried into her chest. His wife ran her hands through his hair, held on to him as he sobbed into her. He didn’t want this, not this. War had already taken his father, spread his brothers and sisters across the world and now it had taken his best friend, his brother in arms. He wasn't prepared for this, for the horror of war. He knew what it was, his father always told him that war wasn’t just about the glory, that war was painful, dark and bloody, that war wasn’t fair and didn’t care if you were innocent, it would take your blood all the same. Yet here he was, sobbing and broken, dealing with the aftermath of his victory. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he cried like this, not since he was a child and still so swayed by his emotions. He hadn’t even cried when his father died. When he found a moment of clarity, he cleared his throat and broke apart from Myrcella, wiping his eyes dry with his soiled glove. 

“Come now, my love, let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.” Myrcella said as she turned to fetch a fresh pair of small clothes and a rag for him as Robb moved back into the chair, the weight of the world still heavy on him but he realized suddenly just how tired he was. With the help of his wife, Robb shed his armor, cleaned the blood off of his skin and slipped on a new pair of small clothes before he was able to go and collapse into bed. He sunk into the featherbed, everyone of his muscles and bones sighing in relief. Myrcella climbed in next to him, she was warm and soft and eagerly cuddled up to him, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as one hand ran through her golden curls. 

“I missed you.” She mumbled into the crook of his neck, her hair spreading out over his chest. 

“I missed you too.” He told her, his eyes slipping shut eagerly. He felt the weight of the bed shift under him as Grey Wind joined them in bed, laying down across their feet with a loud grumble. “Did you miss that?” Robb asked with a chuckle. 

“Of course.” Myrcella muttered to which Robb laughed more before letting out a soft, content sigh. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short hiatus it’s closing in on the end of the semester and I just restarted counseling for some really heavy stuff so I’ve felt really drained but I’m looking to write some more soon so! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for reading!


End file.
